Origins of Maganac
by Flyboy254
Summary: The time has come to tell our story. A tale of pride, predjudice, sadness and joy...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1- A.C. 188

* * *

Rashid looked over the once peaceful village he had called home. The soldiers had been ruthless. From the survivors he learned that his friend Tauluk had been helping a rebel heal from his wounds for the past few days. The men had been fast and their wrath terrible. Without warning their giant walkers lay waste to the huts and wells, their soldiers herding the survivors into a large group, then shooting them on the spot. The ones who had escaped did not do so uninjured. They to were all near death. Rashid was only saved thanks to his job as a herder in his small mountain home.

The walkers had gone now, along with the soldiers. Slowly, Rashid walked to the village. He looked everywhere. He looked in basements, he searched attics, and even stuck his head into the many wells. There was no one. He fell to his knees, all will gone. But one thought, one desire started to grow. He swore that he would do anything he could to destroy the force that had done this.

The force known as OZ.

* * *

Days later, Rashid found himself in his uncles Mobile Suit factory. His family was wealthy, but they were also grounded. They did not needlessly spend their money on frivolous things. They did not go out and buy large houses or flashy cars. Rashid's great grandfather, when he made his money, swore that neither he nor his descendants would lose their link to regular people. Rashid didn't need to be a herder. He was currently invested in three different European technology firms. Slowly, he opened the door to his uncle's office.

"Rashid! How are you?" Rashid's uncle was a big man, and very jolly, even in the worst of situations. But when it came to his family being in trouble, he was dead serious.

"Not to bad, uncle." Rashid took a seat in one of his uncle's chairs.

"So," said his uncle, his voice growing serious. "I understand that OZ attacked your home. No survivors, right?" Rashid could only nod. His uncle plowed on. "Well, I know that you are only here because you want revenge, so I will make this quick; yes."

Rashid did a double take. "I'm sorry, uncle, but did you say-"

"I did." The man grinned like a fool. "I am not to fond of OZ either. They want me to start making their mobile suits, but they don't like the fact that I manage in my own way, not theirs. So, they threaten to shut me down, under the pretense I am a subversive." He took some plans out of desk and showed them to his nephew. "These, these are how I plan to strike back." Unfolding them, Rashid saw a new mobile suit before him. "I call it 'Maganac'. I plan to manufacture it in protest against the Earth Sphere's attempts at complete control."

"A MS that holds the name 'family'?" Rashid looked at the design. It was not that dissimilar to a Leo.

"Exactly, Rashid." His uncle sat down again. "Rashid, I have come to the conclusion that OZ has its hands in and on everything. I also believe that the colonies are our best hope." He turned to look out the window onto the factory floor. "Those men out there, they want true freedom. We must give it to them." He turned back to his nephew, his best look of seriousness on. "I have a secret factory under construction near an oasis in the desert. As far as I know, neither Earth Sphere nor OZ knows about it. I intend to keep it that way. In time, this factory will be destroyed by an extremist's bomb. And you, I and all these men will become history." He turned to the window to the outside now. "I am growing old, Rashid. I won't be able to fight in the suit. I need a younger man to do it for me."

Rashid could only cry tears of joy. "Thank you, uncle."

* * *

Production of both the secret factory and suits was quick. The new Maganac Mobile Suit was a masterpiece in Rashid's eyes. The suit was nimble, could take a beating, but still keep its pilot safe, and, best of all, OZ knew nothing about it. The suit was built for any environment, but was especially adept at desert combat, where it could be sunken into the sand at a moments notice.

"The production is coming along well," observed Rashid's uncle. In the past months the man had aged considerably, but still kept his young spirit. "I just read a report from the Earth Sphere. They bought the story. They think that every man here was killed." Then his demeanor changed. "We don't have enough qualified pilots. So far I have about twenty-three men lined up. I have at least forty suits, Rashid. Along with that, I don't have enough leaders. Can you find them?"

Rashid was as quiet as he could be in the bar. It was in the rough side of town, and the most dangerous. He couldn't simply get up and ask one of the men here if they were pilots. That would be stupid. Many of the men here were criminals, after all.

"Nice job back in Merakesh, Auda! Now, not only are we suitless, but we're on the radar!" Abdul threw his drink back and glared again at his partner. "Now what do we do!"

"Can you keep it down, you idiot!" Afmad looked again around the bar, trying to pinpoint any Sphere agents. "Listen, we just need a new plan. Maybe we can infiltrate a suit factory?"

"Wouldn't work," said Auda. "After Merakesh, our pictures are everywhere. I wouldn't be surprised if someone came up to us right now and turned us in for the bounty."

Rashid was watching the news he knew was doctored. It was still news, though, which was why he watched it. The news anchor droned on endlessly about how the colonies kept "defying" Earth rule, but then something caught his ear. "Reports coming from Merakesh indicate that the three pilots responsible for the attack are hiding somewhere in Kabul, Afghanistan." Then Rashid turned to look at the three men, each wearing a fez. "Maybe…" He walked over to talk to them.

"Eyes up, gentlemen, we have a visitor." They all looked up to see the man with the strange beard get up from the bar to talk to them. "Excuse me," he said "Are you the men who attacked Merakesh?" Without another word, the three jumped him.

The bar's patrons watched helplessly as the three men fought it out in the middle of the floor. The man with the beard ducked a kick from a man with some glasses. Another one of the men in fezzes tried to grab the man by the neck, but ended up getting thrown on the floor. The tall man with the beard then towered over them. "Now listen," he said, command in his voice. "I was looking for you because I have a job for you. If you agree, you will be well paid, well protected, and take part in overthrowing OZ. Do you accept?"

Every pilot in the bar stood up. Surprise crossed the mans face. Some were Afghani. Some were western. Some were Asian. But he knew all were pilots. Finally the three men stood up, dusting themselves off. "Where do we sign?" said Abdul jovially.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2- A Herd with a Green Shepherd

* * *

"Are we ready, uncle?" Rashid was in his pilot's compartment of his suit. It was utilitarian, which was code for small, dark and full of rough edges.

"Yes, Rashid, we are." His uncle looked over the readouts one more time. If their intelligence was correct, a pack of ES troops would be coming through the area in three hours. "Remember, once you arrive at point Alpha Tango, split into two groups of twenty, is that clear?"

"Affirmative!" shouted Auda over the comm. circuit. "Just tell us where to shoot, and we guarantee that no one will walk away!"

Quietly, Rashid switched to the private channel between his uncle and himself. "I don't like this, uncle. Those men we've recruited, they seem to…unstable."

"Don't worry. I've managed to get some information on them." He looked at one of his technician's screens. "The three you fought with are all sworn enemies of the Earth Sphere and OZ. Once they even went out of their way to destroy an OZ force that was going to attack an undefended city."

Rashid still wasn't convinced. "But what were they trying to do before that, uncle?"

He looked pained at the question. "They were… trying to intercept a convoy of gold bullion out of Islamabad." Rashid grunted.

Unknown to both of them, Afmad was listening in. "Did you all hear that?" he asked his two compatriots.

"Of course we did," said Abdul. "So, they want proof we're good? We'll show them."

A technicians voice came over the circuit. "Ten, nine, eight, seven," By now every man had tensed up on his controls. This was going to be big. "Six, five, four, three, two, one, doors opening!" With a loud scraping, the giant doors opened, and out came forty MS with only one purpose. The destruction of the Earth Sphere and OZ.

* * *

"Alright. Abdul, you will accompany me to the ambush point with my uncle's men. Afmad, you and Auda cover their retreat route with the other thirteen." Quickly, Rashid surveyed point Alpha Tango. Though thoroughly desert, the GPS said that now was when he should split the group.

Their replies came loud over the radio, and in seconds, they had branched of from each other. The attack was to be a basic "L" ambush. A simple plan, but beautiful because of it.

"So, Rashid," said Abdul on the closed circuit. "You don't like us, do you?"

Rashid was caught off guard. He hadn't expected such a question from the criminal. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't." Abdul could tell, though. After years of living in the world of the Black Market, he had developed a sixth sense, designed to tell when a person was lying. "But, and I mean this, if you didn't trust us, why should we trust you."

Rashid didn't answer. He couldn't.

* * *

No intelligence system, even OZ's, is ever complete. The generals in WWI underestimated the devastation of poison gas. German planners in WWII didn't remember that the Russian army was more motivated by death from their own officers than German troops. Vietnam was riddled with mistakes and misinformation in the early days. For a group of ragtag rebels formed in the space of a few months, it was almost nonexistent. This would be their baptism of fire.

It took the undisciplined pilots of Rashid's uncle almost twenty minutes to get into position, even with Abdul's "guidance". By comparison, the pilots with Afmad and Auda were ready in five. Finally ready, they waited for the ES convoy to make its way to them. Rashid wisely used the time to go over what he had learned from the briefing. It seemed a convoy of ES parts and supplies was moving from Istanbul to Kabul using a rarely used desert road. From what could be found, the convoy's guard was minimal, relying only on tanks to protect them. In the minds of the experienced pilots, all that was needed was three MS.

Though a reiteration, no intelligence system, however advanced, is without its failures. The old American CIA once believed that in a small desert nation, weapons once existed. Those same people believed that back in Before Colony time of the 1970's, a small jungle country would be the starting point for a worldwide revolution. The British military in B.C. 1936 believed a small Austrian man had no chance of forming a great military. The basic theme is that no matter how powerful the system, it is prone to failure.

Slowly, a cloud of dust came into view. Shifting his view, Rashid was slowly unnerved. It was much large a cloud than what a few trucks and tanks would kick up. Slowly, men up and down the ambush were comparing the clouds, until Rashid finally ordered radio silence.

Abdul was counting. Along with the twenty-five trucks and ten tanks, there were also twenty MS. "Now why would they assign MS to such a small convoy?" he wondered.

* * *

The captain in command of the ES column lounged at his controls, letting the computer in the machine handle the majority of the work. There had been no activity in the sector, not since that small village had been wiped away. Now, the captain's biggest concern was whether he would have scotch or whiskey when he reached the end.

The convoy closed in on the side of the "L", in this case, Rashid and his men. The base was made up of Afmad and Auda. Then the unthinkable happened. One of the mercenary pilots contracted from the bar tried to increase his magnification, but his understanding of the controls was almost laughable. Instead of getting a better view, he instead pressed the firing button.

A shot rang out, and a fuel truck turned into a fireball. The convoy came to a sudden halt, resulting in a few hit bumpers and grinded gears. "What's happening out there, Lt?"

"I don't know sir," the young officer replied, voice showing his confusion. "The shot was from a laser weapon, that is for sure. Origin is from our immediate front. Aside from that, I have no information."

"Captain, what's happening?" the leader of the tanks and convoy demanded.

"We think there might be an ambush. Stand by." With that, the captain used his suit's hands to signal the other OZ MS to fan out.

* * *

Rashid swore but kept down. He knew that if they just stayed quiet and remained still, the MS would pass right over them. So, to his complete disbelief, the mercenaries and Abdul started firing on the ES MS. "Come on, you assholes! The surprise is gone now!" Lining up his sights, he turned a tank into a ball of flame.

The captain quickly took stock of the situation. There were at least sixteen? No, seventeen unknown MS firing on the convoy. But one of those MS was alone. "Second squad! Move to that lone MS!"

Doing as ordered, the four MS in second squad pushed their machines as fast as they could.

Abdul swore as he saw the four MS coming at him. "Rashid! Get up here! I'm going to need some help!"

Poking his suits head up, Rashid saw the fight was moving quickly. The enemy MS were running for cover, trucks and tanks running around at their feet like ants. Beams and shells flew all over. One ES suit erupted in a ball of flame. Tanks shells looked like fireworks compared to the suits. He saw Abdul line up one of the four ES suits coming towards him and fire, turning the suit's head into a ball of flame. "What are you waiting for? I can't take on three of them!" As if to reinforce the point, 105mm shells came crashing into the ground in front of him.

Dragging up his suit, Rashid leveled the beam rifle at one of the advancing enemy suits. Quickly, he chose his target, the one on the far left. Snapping off shots, he was rewarded with the sight of the beams impacting the suit with a force equal to three hundred pounds of TNT. The ES suit quickly fell.

* * *

"Major!" the Lt. in the remaining suit yelled over the comm. channel, "We've lost Thomas!"

The major was becoming unnerved now. "We have to fall back to the others!" Without even waiting, the Major turned his suit and ran, leaving the Lt. to fight his own battle. Without waiting, the Lt. threw down his suits weapon and put the suit's hands over its head.

Abdul started running. "Move you weak fools! This is a war! If you don't fight, you'll die!"

Not wanting to find out who would kill them first, Rashid's men started firing on the enemy suits.

* * *

Afmad and Auda swung their rifles in wide arcs. To them and the other mercenaries, this was just another fight. And they relished it. Some sang songs. Some silently fired. But they all were experts compared to Rashid and his men. They fired in short, controlled bursts. They ran from dune to dune when they had to.

The ES troops were the worse off; they were confused. They had never really seen a fight before. They were garrison troops. Their job was simply to stand around and look good. They had never seen any real combat. The most they did in a week was walk from point A to B. And now they were in battle. And in battle, the worst thing to be is confused.

"What's going on? Where's that fire coming from!" The captain in command yelled. It seemed like his right flank had suddenly come alive. His twenty suits were quickly being picked off. Looking everywhere for some sign of a commander's suit, all he saw was a group of like-looking suits. "Which one is the leader?" he yelled.

Next to him, another convoy truck exploded. He knew that the convoy was the real prize for the fighters, and thought fast. "All convoy units, retreat back to Islamabad!"

The Lt. in command of the convoy yelled, "But sir! Our orders-"

"Our orders won't mean nothing if we die! Get back to Islamabad!" Unlike the other officers nearby, the captain had risen through the ranks through merit, not blindly following orders.

Rashid saw the convoy moving away. "They're escaping! Squads four and six, go after them!"

"No! Let them go!" Abdul yelled. "We have bigger problems to worry about!"

There were still seventeen trained enemies fighting them. Their weapons ranged from 105mm cannons to beam rifles. Their fire was, for the most part, trained and expert. The mercenaries were also on par, but theirs was from years of experience, not training. As for Rashid and his uncles men, it was…weak.

Afmad looked carefully over the ES suits. Suddenly, he saw an anomaly. One of the suits had what looked like radio antennas coming out of the right side of its head. Quickly, he lined up his beam rifle and fired shots in quick succession at it.

* * *

The ES XO, a 1st Lt., was shocked to see his captain's suit explode in a ball of flame. He froze at his controls, his rifle useless. He was nothing but a political appointment, using his family's prestige to get him through the ranks. As an officer, he was useless.

"Lt!" The sergeant major yelled, "What are your orders?" No response. "Sir, what are your orders?" The Lt.'s suit just stood motionless, its pilot shrunken inside himself. "Dammit! All ES suits, the fight is lost! Retreat, I repeat, retreat!"

Abdul saw the ES suits turning and swore. "Auda! They're escaping!"

"Dammit! All suits, up on me! Squad one, move to the left to cut them off. Second, stay back as reserve! Third, come with me!"

Quickly, the mercenaries started pushing their suits to the hardest. The very sand seemed to shake from the pounding of the metal monsters. First squad was in position in minutes, laying down a heavy fire at the retreating ES troops. Third squad was directly behind, their fire more precise and calculated. The reason second was held back was not so much as to act as reserves, as to act as a buffer against Rashid.

"What do you mean they went after the enemy suits?!" Rashid yelled into his comm., as he and his uncles men tried desperately to catch the convoy. More and more, though, it became obvious that the supplies were going to escape. The trucks were just better suited to move quickly through the dunes, like ants running from a hawk.

"They're going after the enemies remaining suits," the mercenary he was talking to yelled back. "They're giving you the chance to perform this ridiculous task!"

Infuriated, Rashid spun around and sent his suit's fist at the other suits head. Then, with a speed that surprised everyone, the mercenary not only dodged the blow, but sent Rashid's suit crashing into the sand. "Stop acting like you're in charge!" Afmad bellowed. "All experienced pilots should aid with the fight! The rest of you," he sneered, "Get out of the area, take a roundabout route to the factory! On the double!"

Not willing to abandon the convoy, but afraid of the mercenaries, the workers did as ordered and ran, leaving the mercenaries to drag Rashid and his suit back.

* * *

Abdul and Auda lay down a careful layer of fire at the retreating suits. Every few minutes, one would drop from either massive damage or lucky shots. Some were smarter, though. A few of the suit pilots rose through the ranks through work and thought, so they knew they would die if they stood out in the open like the others. Using the dunes, they managed to tie down most of the enemy.

"Abdul, we need to end this!" Auda yelled, before loosing a burst at one of the larger dunes.

Quickly taking stock of the situation, he used his suit to signal six of the other mercenaries to follow his behind the dunes. In seconds, they had reached all the way around to the enemies right flank. Reaching behind his back, Abdul pulled one of the most advanced CC weapons he had ever seen; the heat tomahawk.. Abdul had used beam swords many times before, but every so often he would malfunction and send the light beam shooting everywhere. This was different. Only the blade was the focus of the energy, in this case, superheating the diamond-edged blade so it could easily slice through titanium. With the rest of the suits drawing their swords, Abdul waited a few seconds longer before forcing his suit up with a leap and yelling a battle cry into the loudspeaker. The ES troops, thinking such tactics dead, didn't have time to react.

To Auda, the battle was a flurry of flashes and metallic screams. He saw one of the mercenaries rip off an ES "head", punch through the cockpit and throw what was left of the pilot out. Another merc pulled a beam sword out from an ES, activated it, then shoved it straight down into the body. Abdul himself tore a gash through what was left of the enemy, swinging his weapon with the skill of an expert. Eventually, there were no enemies left, the desert going back to the way it was since the dawn of time.

"Very good men…" Abdul wheezed. "Lets…lets go…"

**Alright, to all the loyal readers out there, I'm sorry for the infrequent updates. School has been a bastard. There is one story thought- Last of the White Vampires. Type it in, read it, review. That's where my train of thought is right now.**

**Just review this before going off.**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3- Family Pt. 1

* * *

Rashid slowly walked out of his MS, fists clenched in anger. All over, his uncle's men slowly exited their machines, faces filled with shock over what they had done. The mercenaries were different, however. Some cheered with joy, other prayed. Abdul was high-fiving some of the cheering mercenaries, Auda simply congratulating them. Afmad was talking with the MS crew, informing them on the performance. Rashid didn't care. "They disobeyed orders," he thought. "They violated _my_ command!" Quickly, he stormed over.

Abdul was singing loudly when he felt a blow to the side of his head. Falling, he saw lights in front of his eyes, dancing fancifully to mock his paralysis. "Get up!" he heard. "If you think you're strong enough to disobey my orders then you should fight me!" In seconds, the other mercenaries descended on Rashid, while Auda dragged Abdul away. Then, the factory workers started to help Rashid, and the whole thing turned into a donnybrook. One worker sung a wrench at a tattooed man with a handlestash, only to hit empty air, then get picked up and thrown. A scrawny mercenary was knocked out when he was hit on the back of the neck. Three factory workers were all backing away from an Asian man, who swung at them with martial arts. This carried on for some time until a gunshot rang through the hangar. When the combatants turned towards the sound, what they saw was Rashid's uncle, and a few other men, each holding a gun, the uncle holding his at the ceiling. "Rashid, come with me."

Silently, Rashid closed the door to his uncle's office and sat down in the nearest chair. He and his uncle sat in silence for minutes, the tension building steadily in Rashid. "Well," his uncle said, finally switching off the pressure. "You struck at the convoy." Rashid nodded. "You defeated at least a dozen enemy mobile suits." Rashid nodded again, not so much apprehensive as confused. "Then where are my supplies?" Rashid was off guard for that question. "I'm…sorry?"

"You forgot your objective!" he yelled. "I specifically ordered you to capture the convoy, not waste resources!" The old man was working up a storm now, his fists slamming up and down onto his desk. "We needed those supplies to feed the families! You were responsible for feeding us! And you failed!" Rashid slowly wheeled the chair away from his uncle, but didn't dare bolt for the door. Whoever those men were would throw him back inside. "B…b…but uncle! It wasn't my fault! Those…mercenaries-"

"Don't you think I'd have a radio!" he bellowed. "They made the right decisions! Not you!" He sat down now, breathing deeply for a minute before continuing. "Those men out there are other so-called 'mercenaries'. They will train my workers until they deem them fit for battle. Until then, I will leave command to Afmad. You," he said harshly, "Are confined to your quarters until I deem fit. Now, _get out of my sight_!"

Barely noticing the yelling of the new men at the workers turned pilots, he stumbled all the way to his room, mercenaries staring him down, turning it into a walk of shame.

* * *

Dr J was busy putting the finishing touches on his masterpiece when his comm. lit up. "Yes?"

"Dr J, its Howard. I've got some news from the surface."

Dr J rubbed his temples. "Howard, if its troop movements again, I'd rather not hear it."

"How about a new force against OZ?" This got J's attention. "Tell me everything."

"Well, I don't know much, but it seems an ES convoy came under attack earlier in the week. Only enemy MS were destroyed, though, not the rebels."

Dr J was confused. "Strange, I haven't heard anything about bases being raided."

"That's just it!" Howard exclaimed. "They were using completely new MS! And even better, they didn't even take the convoy!"

"What?" Dr J cried. "Where did this happen?"

"That's even crazier! It happened out in the middle of a desert! Exactly the place they'd need the supplies!"

J puzzled over what he had just heard.

* * *

The remains of the convoy screeched to a halt once it was inside the base they came from, the drivers shaking or standing around nervously. The MPs were shocked, seeing how none of the trucks had been touched, yet the tanks and MS that were sent with them were nowhere to be found. "What happened?" asked the first one who got to the drivers.

"They…came from nowhere…" said the man, his eyes in the thousand yard stare. "They came…right from the sand…the radio…it was like demons screaming!" The driver started shivering even worse. "The escorts…they were just…_wiped away_! The suits…vanished! We barely escaped!"

* * *

Eventually, the base was calmed, and its CO, Col. Ian Young-Timar was in the infirmary, "evaluating" the survivors. "Dammit, tell me! How many were there!"

The man in the bed below him was quaking seriously, everyone present afraid the man would have seizure. Finally, one of the doctors worked enough courage to say "That's enough, sir!" rushing to the man's bedside to stabilize him. Young-Timar, meanwhile, stormed to his office, cursing the whole way. As he arrived, however, he found a man already there, in the dreaded dark blue uniform. In his hands were the preliminary reports on what had happened. "Hm. Twenty brand new MS destroyed in the span of a half-hour. This must be a new rebel record."

Young-Timar growled at the intruder. "Major Reanou. To what do I owe the _pleasure_ of your…arrival."

"This attack," he said, placing the files on the desk and removing one of the last fine Cuban cigars in Young-Timar's drawer. "We of course have the good sense and decency to keep such an incident away from the public eye, though we must investigate with all due haste." Picking up the colonel's lighter, he puffed away at the cigar, the room filling with blue smoke.

"We can handle this," Young-Timar growled, teeth bared. "If we need OZ assistance, we will call for it. Until such time, however, I ask you to vacate the base, post haste!"

"But of course, general," Reanou said, his Bordeaux accent highlighting itself in his small chuckles. "I will leave the matter entirely in your _capable_ hands." Cigar still in hand, he walked out to the helicopter that brought him.

Young-Timar swore, picking up the cigars and throwing them across the room. "Damn special bastards!" he bellowed, throwing himself into his chair. "If it wasn't for them looking over our shoulders, we wouldn't have to worry so much about performance!" Grabbing at his most treasured possession, a ten-year old Scotch, he poured himself a glass and threw it down, mind working as hard as it ever had as an officer to figure out a way to deal with these so-called "demons".


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4- Confinement

* * *

Rashid was starting to go mad inside the small room. It had been three weeks since his uncle had locked him away, on half rations no less, and the isolation started to wear at his psyche. It seemed every second that came and went took one more piece of his sanity, turning him into a mindless drone.

Soon, his small breakfast of toasted bread, jam and water arrived, which he promptly wolfed down, the meager portions barely satiating his ravenous hunger. Then, he went to the workout routine he had devised, meant to keep his mind from wandering too far for too long. Eventually, though, even that wore thin, and his small collection of reading materials had already been gone through at least three times each. Rashid almost felt his frontal lobe melting away. "By Allah, uncle, you are a devil…"

* * *

Abdul, Afmad and Auda looked with silent humor on the sight of the factory workers trying to become pilots. It wasn't that they were spectacularly bad, it was the fact that they're instructors were screaming at them for the tiniest mistake, something none of them were accustomed to from their former leader. "I'm surprised," Auda said, grinning. "None of them have wussed out yet!"

"Never underestimate the lengths a person will go for their family and life," Abdul said, "Otherwise you give him the element of surprise."

Afmad simply watched the training continue, seeing the smallest faults in the men even from the distance he was watching. He saw one man just barely correct the very deadly mistake of pointing a weapon, even an unloaded one, at another person. He saw another actually try to look inside the barrel of his own gun! "Say, do you two ever think we may have taken the wrong job?"

Abdul just stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"Even for rebels, these men are a little pathetic," he responded, keeping his eyes on the man who tried to look down the barrel. "I mean, of course it would take time to sufficiently train a truly capable rebel force, but these men are like babes in a slaughterhouse."

Auda and Abdul both winced at the mental image, thinking of how their new allies might do against professional soldiers, not just garrison puppets.

"Then again," Auda said, "Some of our compatriots aren't exactly that trustworthy either." Motioning behind him, Abdul and Afmad saw what he meant. True some of the mercenaries were professional soldiers, each fighting for money or adventure, never losing sight of the bigger picture. Then there were the two extremes, the "movie-stars" and the basket cases. Over the years, movie-stars were mercs who joined simply because they thought they could hack the extremely difficult life. Many never saw a full year in their "profession". The others, the basket cases, were just plain dangerous. These were the men who fought simply for the thrill of killing, the money a small extra. Others were obsessive technophiles, the MS their entire life, extremely protective and suicidal when they lost them. In fact, once, in Niger, Abdul had seen a man shoot up his own force because of a barely noticeable scratch on his Leo.

"Yeah," Abdul finally said. "Looks like we're between two rocks and a hard place."

* * *

Outside, the instructors had little to joke about, having been given the ultimatum of "If the men aren't trained within eight weeks, you will not only not get compensation, you will be forcibly removed." In plain English, the old man had said, "Train them, or get out." And none of them were willing to go back on their word, not after seeing some of the other mercenaries.

* * *

"Alright, you sodomites!" McDoland screamed. "You will learn today the basics of weapons training, or I will mule kick each and every one o' ya!" He pointed at some targets in the distance. "Those targets are three hoondred yards away! Your job is ta' fire at them, and hit every single one!"

The workers only stared at the man, his thick Scottish burr throwing them off. But they understood actions. A man pointing a gun downrange at a target probably meant they were to fire at it. And the yelling probably meant do it quickly. Rushing to the firing line, they quickly raised their rifles and fired. Instantly, the desert sand kicked up in the hot morning sun.

McDoland swore heavily. "You stoopid bastards! Cease fire!" The men stopped firing, looking at the Scotsman like he would tear their arms off. Huffing, McDoland grabbed one of the men and pushed him to the line. "Arms up!" he screamed. "ARMS UP!" The scarred worker obliged, his arms up in the air. Dragging them down with a snarl, McDoland positioned them quickly. "Keep the elbows bent! Keep the right arm level with your shoulder! Focus only on the target! The sights are just an aid."

The man was shaking violently, however, and McDoland decided to drop his anger for the briefest of seconds. "Breath slowly. Don't focus on anything else but the target." The man only looked at McDoland for a minute before following the instructions. Gradually, his muscles relaxed, his breathing became quieter, and his hands less shaky. "Good. Now, focus on the target. There's nothing else in the world but the target. There are other things, yes, but there's time for that later. For now, focus on the target."

It was like a complete transformation. The man stopped quivering in the shadow of his instructor and started to focus. McDoland smiled in his own small way. He had seen it before. The man was starting to focus, his thoughts all focused on hitting the target. So focused, all McDoland had to do was whisper, "Fire."

The shot flew from the rifle and smacked dead center into the target, the shooter standing in awe. The other men started cheering, their brother's good fortune lifting their spirits.

"Alright, that's enoof o' tha'!" McDoland yelled, his anger back in place. "I want all o' ya on the line, doin' exac'ly the same thing!"

* * *

The man yelled when he hit the ground, the pain in his limbs immense. The big black man above him smiled. "You lose." Extending a hand, he helped the worker up on his feet again. "You were doing good up until you tried to go for my head. You left your midsection wide open. You have to remember that next time if you want to beat your opponent in a fight." Smiling, Alaby turned to the rest of the workers he was teaching. "Remember, there's no such thing as a fair fight in war. You take every opportunity you get to beat your opponents. If you have to kick'em in the groin, do it. If you have to gouge out their eyes, do it. It's you or them. Make sure its them on the slab."

* * *

"Argh! No no no, you dumb arab!" Patrick yelled, pulling the pliers out of the workers hands. "You just connected the power switch to the detonator relay! Thanks to you, we're all dead!"

"Ah, lay of the man," Brian said. "He's still learnin'. Yellin' at these boy-o's won't do us any good."

"Speak for yourself," Patrick snapped back. "I gotta have some way to keep from going mad!"

The workers just watched for a few minutes as the two IRA men went at each other. Then, with a sigh, Patrick turned to them. "Look, lads. We're here to teach you. But you have to pay attention. When it comes to explosives, you're only wrong once."

* * *

Houston wiped his forehead coming out from the hatch. "You boys really can't improvise, can ya?" Going to his toolbox, the Texan found exactly what he was looking for. "Gentlemen, I am going to show you the greatest invention mankind has ever made. Duct tape."

The workers just stared at him like he was insane. "Um, Mr. Houston? Isn't that a little…risky? These are high performance machines, after all! Just using simple…tape will be enough to keep them running?"

"No," Houston answered, laughing as he put the tape into place. "Sometimes you'll need a circuit board or an actuator. Hell, sometimes you need a new reactor. But, for the small rips and tears and general wear," he said, pulling another strip, "Nothing works like the miracle of duct tape."

* * *

"No, your system is to uptight," said the most mystical of the mercenaries, Shin Woo Chan. "You must flow with the machine. Do not fight it like you are. You must learn the subtle motions. Learn its strengths and weaknesses, its powers and abilities." He turned to the rest of the men he was teaching. "You see the MS you pilot as a mere weapon. I will teach you to use it, but as your own body." He smiled, and turned back to the man in the cockpit. "Again."

Young-Timar hovered over the men in his command like a hawk, watching their surveillance screens for any discrepancy. But the desert was unbroken, a sea of bronze in the sun. "There's something missing," he mumbled. "Some secret key that we just don't have."

"Sir!" one of the men yelped. "I have something! Comm. logs! They're coming in loud and clear, but I can't trace the source!"

"Well what can you trace!"

Typing the proper commands in, the soldier had an answer instantly. "Here! Point R-23! It's pretty far away, but it's there!"

Young-Timar grinned evilly. "Very good, son." He turned to his XO. "Ready a platoon of armor and a battalion of infantry. It's not the factory, but it will put a damper on their little…'rebellion'!"

The XO saluted, and rushed to his own console, giving the orders as they came.

* * *

Rashid's uncle looked out into the morning sun. The day's latest training was proceeding as hoped, the men learning what they needed. However, in his eyes, it wasn't fast enough. ES may have been slow to wake, but when it was fully aware it was an unstoppable juggernaut, able to grind all beneath it's mighty boots.

"Sir," said a voice behind him. Turning, he saw McDoland. "Ah, McDoland. Is everything alright?"

"Aye, sir, everything's fine. I just want to go over a few things wit' ya."

Motioning to some chairs, the men took seats and started talking. "What, specifically, would you like to speak of?"

"Your men, sir. And not the workers, they're learning. Bloody slowly, but they're learning. No, I want to talk with ya 'bout some o' them mercenaries. A few…well, they strike me as a wee bit off the ol' rocker, understand? I were you, I'd recommend gettin some new ones while the gettin's good."

Rashid's uncle nodded sagely. "Yes, I agree, some of the mercenaries are a small bit…unstable. But, for the time being, I need such men, at least until we have the base of supplies and trained troops to get rid of them."

"But, sir," McDoland said, a worried look on his face, "There's on'y won way ta get rid of 'em."

"I know," the uncle said solemnly, turning back to the window. "You are dismissed."

* * *

The force of ES troops slowly worked their way across the desert, equipment only barely prepared for the harsh nature of the sand and sun. The temperatures reigned over them like a brutal king, mocking them in their futile attempts to escape it, like riding on the tanks of foolishly drinking what little water they had. And they were only a quarter of the way to their objective.

"This is madness," said one of the men. "We should turn back now, while we can!"

"Hey, if you want to, go right ahead," said another. "I don't want the colonel breathing down my neck because I decided to go back."

The man marched on in silence for a few minutes longer, then turn around. "Hey, where do you think you're going!" his sergeant yelled. "Get back here and perform you duty!"

"I can't," the man said back. "I'm a terrible performer."

The officer in charge just glared at the retreating back of the man, while the sergeant kept yelling profanities at the man. The enlisted just stared, the small thought creeping into their heads that maybe, in some small way, their brother was right. Of course, he probably wouldn't be around long enough to say "I told you so".

* * *

The wives were bored, entertained by what little idle talk they could think of. The men were needed to pilot the suits, and the leader of their group had expressly forbidden them from going into battle. Yet, some of the women pushed on for something useful to do, to help their husbands along. So, in order to free up more able-bodied fighters, Mr. Kurama had decided to put them to work in the information room. But the work was hardly the exciting thrill they expected, led to believe by countless books and movies that such a job was a glamorous adventure. Instead, they discovered it meant pouring over pile after pile of data packets and satellite photos.

"And little Fasad learned to count to twenty! I swear, he is so intelligent, when we're free, he'll be able to get whatever job he wants."

"Well, little Karin has…What's that noise?"

The rest of the women heard it too. A small, steadily growing beeping noise. Looking at their consoles, Fasad's mother found the cause. The worst possible cause. "By Allah…" she whispered. "R-r-r-red alert! The enemy! They're coming to the transmitter! They've got tanks! They're going to destroy the transmitter!"

Slamming her hand on "the button", klaxons all over the factory rang out, the workers just staring at them. The mercenaries, however, ran for their suits, some grabbing the workers and dragging them along.

* * *

"Move it, ya' stooped gits!" McDoland screamed. "Tha's the red alert, ya bastards! Ye have to move!"

Soon, the workers were on the move, strapping themselves in quickly. But there was an empty suit, it's pilot still under holding.

"Let me out!" Rashid screamed. "That's the alarm! Let me out! I need to get out to fight!" He slammed his hands on the door over and over again, until his knuckles bled, darkening the virgin metal. "Let me out," he said weakly, collapsing to the floor. "Let me fight…"

Soon, the suits were on their way, accompanied by their teachers. But they were still short a suit. At least, not for long.

"Hey, look at this," Abdul said. "Looks like the fortunate son decided to come and join us in a fight."

"Maybe he'll remember the orders this time," Auda laughed. But the suit's comm. remained silent, no transmissions coming out.

"Never mind him," Afmad ordered, sternly. "We have to focus on defense now! Move it!"

* * *

Slowly, the tanks arrived at their predetermined point, by then all of the infantry riding on them, the heat from the engines not making life any easier. Panting like dogs, the infantry dismounted and looked around, barely focused on anything. The tanks, however, found their target instantly, a radio tower disguised in the simplest way. Painted to look like the sand surrounding it. "Alright," the lieutenant said. "All we have to do is tear it down and get out. All tanks, focus fire on the tower," he grinned evilly. "Take it down."

Almost as one, the barrel's on the tanks were raised, the crews smiling at their luck. The infantry, in the meantime, found shade behind the larger dunes, trying to do as little as possible.

One of the tanks erupted in flames, shocking them all. "What the hell was that!" the lieutenant screamed into his earpiece. "Where did that shot come from!"

"Out west!" one of the commanders replied. "Laser shot! MS power!"

"All tanks, shift to the west!" In seconds, the tanks maneuvered to where they were ordered. "Fire!"

The barrels fired as one, H.E. shells blowing large plumes in the desert sands, the hot winds scattering the particles everywhere. But it was a dual-edged sword, the cloud of dust obscuring the dunes ahead. "Did we hit anything? Is there any debris?"

"We can't tell! There's to much in the a-" was all another commander could say, before his vehicle became another mar on the sand.

"What the hell's happening!" the lieutenant screamed. "Where are they!"

Without any warning at all, a mound of sand started to form behind the infantry, growing in size, reaching to the height of the tower. Some fired their weapons, and the tanks quickly attempted to turn to face the new threat. But they were too late, and the mound of sand shed its skin to reveal itself as the enemy.

* * *

"Now! Fire! Fire!" McDoland screamed, pressing the trigger on his Leo, _Wallace_. The 105 shells arched over the sands, landing almost perfectly in front of the enemy tanks, turning some into twisted heaps of burning metal.

The mercenaries were quick to follow, a few moving their suits behind the enemy, encircling them. "We're surrounded!" One of the tanks radioed. "We need to surrender!"

"Never!" the lieutenant said. "We're the warriors of the Earth Sphere! We can take these bloody rebels!"

The tank crew just looked at their CO, coming to a realization. In the man's first test of combat, he had gone insane. And they were trapped inside their steel coffin.

* * *

"Afmad!" McDoland said, "Let the workers take the rest! They need it!"

Afmad nodded. "Of course. They are to need such experience in battle. Otherwise they will learn nothing." Quickly switching frequencies, he broadcast to the other mercenaries. "Attention, attention all hired hands! Leave the battle to the workers!"

"Screw that!" screamed one of them, a small, mousy man. "I came here to kill, and kill I'm gonna do!" Before anyone could do anything, the man pulled his tomahawk and rushed at the enemy.

Rashid's suit quickly intercepted, grappling with the mercenaries, the workers just watching.

"Ya stoopid bastards!" McDoland yelled. "We're in the middle of a bloody battle! Focus on the enemy!"

Quickly snapping out of their distraction, the workers went back to fighting. They were surprised at what they found. Though still a tad stiff and clunky, they remembered the brief training they had over the past few days, using what they had learned to either fire straighter, move faster, or cover themselves with more assurance. The ES troops just fired wildly, their own movements wild and erratic, years of so-called "training' lost under the actual burden of combat.

* * *

"Let go of me, you bastard!" the pilot screeched, trying to bring his tomahawk down on the suit. "Let me kill! Let me kill!"

"Get off of him!" McDolan cried, moving in to assist Rashid. In the three way grapple, however, no one noticed the few surviving tanks.

"There!" the lieutenant yelled. "Those suits! They're clustered close enough! Fire the SABOT!"

Pushing his suit to its limits, hearing the gears squeal and the pistons hiss, McDoland finally removed the merc from Rashid, both falling into the sand, and away from disaster.

* * *

The tank was a beacon for fire afterwords, the workers expending almost their entire supply of ammo on it while the mercenaries handled the other survivors. Auda, Abdul and Afmad just looked at the suit, staring hard at the back, blown inward by the shell. None could make themselves look at the front of the cockpit.

"Poor bastard," Abdul said. "At least he went out fighting."

"Yeah," Auda said. "Shame he didn't go out fighting the enemy."

"No," Afmad said. "He went out fighting the greatest enemy all of us will ever know. He died fighting one who we were foolish enough to think was an ally."

They just looked silently at the suit for a few minutes more, before Afmad input the self-destruct code, given to all pilots to prevent ES capture of their MS. "Lets go home."

* * *

McDoland looked around the base and felt somewhat satisfied. The defense had held, the workers learning valuable lessons in the field, while the mercenaries compared the day with each other.

"Excuse me," said a voice behind him. Turning, McDoland saw it was one of the workers who was still in the factory. "I'm sorry, but I was wondering, do you know where Mr. Kurama is?"

"Well…I'm sorry, lad, but…I'll give the news to his uncle. His nephew…he's dead."

The man just stared at McDoland, confused. "What do you mean? Rashid has been in his quarters the whole day!"

"Wait…you mean the un-" He didn't finish. The proverbial lightning bolt impacted, and he raced back to his Leo, Houston taking note. "Hey, McDoland! What the hell's gotten into ya!"

"No time! Follow me!" Realizing something was very wrong, Dallas immediately leaped into the cockpit of his Tragos Alamo and set off behind McDoland, as the sun moved to the horizon.

* * *

Young-Timar swore so loudly, he could be heard throughout the base. "What in the goddamned hell do you mean 'No survivors!' I ordered twenty tanks and two platoons of infantry to destroy the enemy post, and you _dare_ to tell _me_ that they didn't even _survive_!"

The young staff officer tried his best to shy away. "S-s-s-sir, t-t-that s-s-seems to b-be the situation, s-sir."

Young-Timar's face just grew redder and redder, and his staff was about to duck away from the upcoming bursting veins when a voice carried into the surveillance room. "Ah, how sad. All zose men dead for nothing. Truly, it was a charge of a light brigade!"

Young-Timar heel-turned to find Reanou standing in the doorway, grinning maliciously. "What. Do. You. Want." he sputtered out.

"I am told that you have the lone survivor of the mission, somewhere in the base. Iz it true?"

"That man is a traitor," the colonel answered, ready to vindicate himself. "He will be brought up on dereliction of duty and handed to the court."

"It's his lucky day, then," Reanou retorted, "Because I just happened to be recruiting for ze Specials." From behind his back, Reanou produced an official paper, signed by the leader of ES himself, giving the major permission to recruit whomever he wanted from wherever he wished. "Fine," Young-Timar growled. "Take him. I'd have him shot anyway." Storming back to his office, Young-Timar slammed the door behind him, slamming his fists into the walls until he could feel his bones nearing breaking point.

* * *

Smiling, Reanou went to the holding area and picked up the man, showing him the writ. Hope filling his eyes, the soldier eagerly followed the major into a waiting helicopter. "You don't know how thankful I am, sir!" he said, looking eagerly from the helicopter as it lifted off. "I can't imagine what the colonel would have done to me!"

"I'm sure." Reanou said, smiling gently. "Say, soldier, can you look out over ze side? I think I zee something that may interest you."

Leaning out, the soldier looked eagerly at the ground of the base. "What is it, sir? I can't see what would interest me so! Permission to know what it is!"

"Granted," Reanou said, reaching into his coat. "The last thing you'll ever see." In an instant, he cut the man's restraints, and the soldier fell hundreds of feet screaming all the way, until he landed with a sickening crunch. Screams erupted from the ground seconds after, calling for medical aid. "Well, that should quiet down the colonel quite well, shouldn't it?"

The pilots only nodded, as the flew off into the setting sun.

* * *

McDoland kicked at the sand and swore to the sky, Houston watching him from a distance. There was no doubt about it, Rashid hadn't been the pilot. Recovering the black box, they managed to hack into it to find that, in fact, Rashid's uncle had gone out with his men, and had gotten himself killed.

"You know what we have to do," Houston said, as McDoland wound down.

"I know," the Scotsman said, panting. "But I don't have ta like it."

Houston nodded. "Neither do I. But they have to know, him most of all."

"But tha man's a wreck already. Throwin' this on'll ruin him!"

"Or it could make him stronger." Houston walked over and put his hand on McDoland's shoulder. "Come on, man, we have a contract to work through. Either we stick to it, or we don't eat."

McDoland nodded. "Aye, you're right. We'd best get back." Climbing into his cockpit, he turned around long enough to yell, "But you're the sorry bastard that's gonna tell'im!"

Houston nodded. "I know." And the two went back to the base, the red sun a testament to the blood spilt on the ever-lasting sands.

* * *

**Okay, just want to clear a few things up in case there's any confusion. Reanou is Frecnh, number one, and the misspellings are a (sad) attempt to capture the accents. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.**

**Though a few reviews never hurt nobody, now, did they?**

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5- Direction

* * *

The situation was growing more and more desperate. Despite a few more spectacular defenses, the food supplies still were not replenished, and the new leader had to force the families to eat at half rations, the men at a quarter. It was a situation ripe for dissention and disorder, unless he acted fast.

Auda grasped his gut as it growled again. "Grrrrr, that idiot! We need food! Not him sitting around moping!"

"He's got a lot to handle right now," Afmad replied. "It won't do any of us any good if he goes off half-cocked and takes us with him."

Abdul didn't really pay any attention to them, he was more focused on the training. The workers had progressed well, their second encounter ingraining into their minds that in real life, the good guys stand as good a chance as dieing as the enemy. His mind silently churned on, trying to think of a way to get the required supplies.

"It's not enough that we can't eat, if we leave, ES will grab us in an instant!"

"Well, that's what happens when they see your face."

Almost like it was karmic, a light went on just as Abdul's brain made the connection. "That's it!"

"What?" the two said simultaneously.

"How we can get some more food! It's so simple it _can't_ fail! Listen," Bringing them closer, he laid out the details of such a plan, and their faces lit up as well.

"Of course," Afmad said. "ES is so used to suits, they won't know how to react to something like this! It _is_ foolproof!"

"Hey, you know what they say," Auda interjected, still smiling. "Make something idiot-proof-"

"They just make a better idiot!" they finished as one. Laughing the whole way to McDoland, they outlined the plan they wanted to put forth.

"Lads," he said, face blank. "That has to be the most unoriginal, uninspired, steaming heap of a plan I have ever had the displeasure of hearing." He broke a wide grin. "That's why it can't possibly fail."

* * *

Rashid stared silently out at the floor. It had been a week since they had broken the news to him about his uncle. Loosely grasping his _misbaha_, he tried as hard as he could the remember the prayers his mother had taught him when he was younger. But a knocking on his door put an end to such thoughts. "Enter."

The four men spread quickly through the room, only smiling lightly, though their faces were filled with absolute glee compared to Rashid's. "Sir," McDoland said, "We have an idea ya' might be int'rested in."

Abdul jumped in. "You see, we've been going about this all wrong! We shouldn't be going after the convoys! We should slip into the cities!"

"You see," Afmad said, "All the mercenaries here have some sort of record with ES, and they know the faces to look for. But your workers? They're just some more dumb desert dwellers, not worth the time! The plan is simple, we disguise your men as wandering Bedouins. There are still so many that only a few are categorized. Your men slip in as tribal reps, go to the nearest rationing station, tell some sob story about how they're in famine or something."

"Then, while the ES troops move in to shove them away, we slip in through the back, load up a truck, and roll out again! It's so simple it can't fail!"

"So was the defense," Rashid said. "And yet, we still suffered a loss."

The four looked away from the man. It wasn't wise to push such an issue now, so McDoland did the only thing he could think of. "Sir, do we have your permission to move ahead?"

Rashid nodded. Quickly, the four vacated the room, leaving Rashid to recite broken prayers and forgotten hymns.

* * *

The city of Abha was not a large city by any standard, barely measuring over 450,000 people. Small enough to have little ES presence, but large enough that nobody knew everyone's face. The perfect place for a mission _incognito_.

"I can't believe we're actually doing this," Rasshid said, trying to look as normal as possible, as though he wasn't a rebel-in-training, his voice full of excitement and fear.

"Well, we'd best believe it!" Namir said, his eyes scanning the people ahead. Quickly, he picked out the ES positions surrounding the rationing station. "We just have to stick to the plan, and we should get back in one piece."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Rasshid said. Eyeing the others, all dressed in traditional nomad garb, he felt nervous. True, ES had been soft, their battles all the proof they needed. But they had also proven that luck can be just as strong a factor as training and planning. "We all get back alive, we become targets. We need someone to die, to allay suspicion."

Namir and the others nearby just stared at Rasshid, unable and unwilling to believe the words that just came from his mouth. "Rasshid…what…what are you talking about…"

"I guess the training is getting to me, because I can already see a dozen ways this can go wrong." He looked up at the buildings surrounding the line. "All these buildings, they're tall enough to prevent us from getting a good firing angle, giving the enemy a great defilade. They can shoot us without getting hit back. That's why the put the building here. No other reason fits. That's why we need a distraction. Otherwise we'd get shot to pieces."

The other workers just stared at Rasshid, mind's frozen by the out of character remark.

* * *

"Are we set?" Afmad said into his earpiece.

"Team one here," Auda replied. "We're set over on the left."

"Team two, in position." Sighting his rifle, Abdul nodded.

"Very good. Remember, wait for the troops to start moving, then move on the depot. Grab the food, grab a truck, then move. We have no other choice. Any longer than ten minutes, we're dead."

Auda and Abdul nodded, checking their watched. They had about twenty minutes left.

* * *

Slowly, Rasshid, Namir and the others made their way to the front. "Twenty pounds of grain, ten pounds of meat, and some water, please."

The annoyed soldier behind the counter snorted. "Name and occupation."

"Wayaasi Khan. I am a herder. This is my brother, Zafar-"

"I didn't ask for his name," the soldier said. "And sorry, but we don't give rations to nomads, not anymore."

Both men just stared at the man, Namir out of worry, Rasshid out of something…something he couldn't quite name. "But…our families are starving! How can you just turn us down!" Rasshid exclaimed."Unless you have an ES identification card, you are unable to receive any rations. And we've had no requests in the past month, so you'll have to fill out an application to be eligible."

Another man, not with the workers, heard this too. "What! But my family, they are starving! Please, just a small ration would do! I beg you, give us the food we need!"

Before the workers could do anything, the ES man spoke again. "No! Unless you submit for an ES ID, we cannot distribute food!"

"But women and children are dieing!" Rasshid said. "Surely you can't ignore that!" Some of the men in line grunted or yelled in support, the other workers looking around nervously. What was going on? What happened to the plan of causing the disturbance themselves?

"You should learn your place, you desert heathens!" the officer finally said, standing up and putting his hand on his pistol. "You will cease and desist instantly, our you will be turned away without rations!"

"The rations you give out are pathetic!" said one of the city men, covered by the group. "You give us breadcrumbs and bitter water, yet my daughter serves your officers roast of the finest lamb! How do you explain that!"

Now it was starting to get out of hand. Nomads angry, understandable. But the ones who lived in the city? What was happening? Nothing they had trained for covered this, and so, no one knew what to do. No one, at least, but Rasshid.

* * *

"Hey, Afmad, wake up! Something's happening!" Shocked to attention by Auda's voice, Afmad looked through his scope to see an unbelievable sight. In front of the rationing station, men were shaking fists in the air, chanting in rhythm, while ES troops started to gather nearby. "How many men did we have down there again?!"

"Not _nearly_ that many…" Afmad whispered. He just watched as the nomads and various others started to gather in greater and greater numbers, some to watch, most to join in.

* * *

The eleven year old boy watched from his families apartment as the group gathered in greater and greater numbers. He had never seen such a gathering of men before, or in such large numbers. It was like a spark had been lit, taking to the dry timber of the city.

Without warning, an ES soldier burst in, his mother and sisters screaming. "Please, leave us! We have done nothing wrong-" The soldier made no response other than smack her across the face with his rifle, a terrified look in his eye.

The boy was at his mother's side in an instant, shaking for her, crying for her to wake up. He was sure he heard breathing, but why wasn't she awake? His crying intensified.

"Quiet, you little brat!" the soldier screamed, as he took a position on the terrace.

It was like the spark had finally reached the little boy, touching off the fire. He remembered what his deceased father had taught about the Koran, about how women were to be treasured, honored. But most importantly, how they were to be kept away from other men, especially one who was not of the faith. Slowly, with angry tears in his eyes, the boy went to the kitchen, to look for the sharpest possible knife.

* * *

The soldier was tense. It was his first real fight, and already he felt his nerves starting to fail. Trying to focus, ignoring the rolling sweat on his face, he scoped the rifle and took aim. There, a man who looked like the perfect target, a young man, with the angriest look of all in the crowd. Carefully, he took aim, and started to squeeze the trigger…

* * *

Rasshid turned towards the gunshot, and saw the soldier fall from the terrace, then the rest of the ES troops fire at the exact spot. They fired too late, however, to keep the men on the ground from seeing a young boy, barely old enough to work, fall, his body stitched with lead and blood. A silence fell upon them, as the boy's body fell in slow-motion.

With a mighty roar, the crowd leaped up in anger, years of frustration and oppression finally reaching the boiling point. Screaming with rage, they quickly mobbed the ES soldiers on the ground, others following the soldiers into buildings, quickly followed by gunfire and screams.

* * *

Abdul just watched the scene unfold before his eyes, unable to believe what he was seeing. "This…this was caused by the workers?" All over, ES troops either ran or were overrun, the rioters catching them completely off-guard.

On street level, things weren't much better, the crowd having become a moving, living, growing embodiment of resentment and frustration. Chants of "Death-To-E-S!" and "Freedom!" were everywhere, as men dragged soldiers away and beat the viciously. It was like the eruption of Vesuvius, a great and terrible release of pressure after so many years of buildup and distress.

"Rasshid! What have you done!" Namir screamed, pulling them both behind a pile of boxes. "Do you realize what you've done! You've put hundreds of innocent lives at risk!"

Rasshid wasn't listening. In his eyes and mind, the first real blow had been struck against ES. Everywhere one looked, men were taking their lives for themselves. They grabbed at their oppressors, women cheering them on, and even assisting them. The troops panicked, running madly for any cover they could find, while other patrols in the city left their areas to aid their comrades.

* * *

"Here they go," Afmad said, as the bulk of guards went off to the riot. Without a second thought, the mercenaries sprang to action, firing quickly at the enemy left behind. Cutting the fence and breaching the compound, they easily eliminated anyone left inside, leaving only the trucks, the keys, and weeks upon weeks of food. "Auda, launch the flare! Tell them to get out of there!"

Nodding, Auda climbed onto one of the trucks and launched the flare into the sky, burning like a miniature sun.

* * *

Something caught Namir's eye, forcing him to raise his head. There, in the pure blue sky was the signal that the mission had been accomplished. "They've done it! They've actually done it!" His cheering carried over to the few other workers who were there, and a loud cheer went through them, eventually spreading through the people of the city. But none cheered louder or longer than Rasshid. "Quickly! To the depot! We have to get out of the city, now!"

The workers didn't need to be told twice, running past the rioters still in front of the rationing station, as the majority moved through the city. Quickly counting, Namir found one missing. "Rasshid, come on! We have to get to the trucks!"

Rasshid just stood there, out in the middle of the street, the blood of both the ES troops and rioters flowing as one, some pooling at his feet. "So…this is the life of a revolutionary…"

"Rasshid! Quickly, there isn't much time!"

When Namir saw Rasshid's eyes, it was like looking into the eyes of a different person entirely. Gone was the docile worker who would rather drink a light tea than smoke and drink. Vanished was the young, naïve child who had trouble even getting a date. He had vanished with the ES troops, replaced with a man all together different than any Namir had ever encountered.

"I can't go back," he said softly, but somehow making his voice carry over the din of battle. "I finally realize what Mr. Kurama wanted…not just some illusion of freedom…_real_ freedom…the people choosing what the people want." He smiled softly. "I will miss you all, Namir." With that, he ran off into the city, cheering madly.

Namir made to run after him, but thankfully, for his own sake, a few men had waited for him, and were there to grab him as he lunged for the retreating form of their friend. "Rasshid!" he cried, unable to reach his friend. "Rasshid! Come back here! _Rasshid_!"

* * *

Eventually, the workers and mercenaries had gathered enough food until they needed to raid again, and had been lucky enough that the riot was moving in the opposite direction from them. Otherwise, they would've been forced to give up their food.

"What happened?" Auda asked, dumbstruck. "I mean, we expected _something_, but a _riot_?! What did you do to set them off?"

The workers just stared down at the bed of the truck. How could they answer such a question with bringing back the memory of Rasshid's strange transformation?

* * *

McDolan raised his glass in a cheer. "To revolution," he said, taking a swig of the whiskey. "Ahhhh…That's a fine age there, my boys, and rightfully so."

The IRA men nodded. "Aye, you're right about that. Never tasted a finer one in me life."

"Amen to that," Houston said, swirling his glass. "I can't believe I'm sayin' this, but our contract is up. They're on their own now."

"Yes, they are," Alaby said, the African not having any alcohol. "But their performance will reflect on their teachers. Let us hope we were not as poor as Earth Sphere's drill instructors."

"You're worry'n to much," McDoland retorted. "Those boys, they got the fire now," he said, throwing back another glass. "I seen it before. Them boys don't need crazy bastards anymore. We stick around, we'll be a crutch." Having said his peace, he then focused on trying to get a stain off his clothes. "So…what aboot the rest a ya? Personally, I'll be headin' back at Glasgow. Inferments are getting' a wee bit bold."

"Well, we'll be heading home as well," Brian said, setting his glass down and wiping some red off his face. "We got word before we left that the leaders are goin' for Easter again."

"Oh, fer Christ's sake," McDoland exclaimed, "Yew bastards aren't serious, are ye? The last time ye tried Easter, it blew up in ya faces!"

"Aye, but the last time, a whole slew of miscommunications took place," Patrick retorted. "This time, we have a finalized date, a clear course of action, and a burning desire for revenge!"

Houston just laughed. "You Mc's are all the same. Full'a booze and lackin' brains. That's it. Now, what we've got goin' is _lightyears_ ahead a takin' some post office…"

"Of course," Alaby said, finally inserting himself. "Put guns into the hands of untrained civilians every few years and see what happens. It can't possibly fail." He took a drink of his water and sighed. "What about you, Chan? What will you do when this is over?"

"I'm staying."

The other mercenaries paused, their ears probably fooling them. "Chan…did you really say-"

"Yes, Patrick, I did," he responded, his voice flat. "I see something in these men, something I have never seen in any other group. I cannot truly describe it in words…maybe it is their relative innocence…at least, compared to our own doings…"

The men looked down at that, all equally ashamed of what their respective groups had done at times. Slowly, McDoland raised his glass. "To the Maganac Corps…the best of us…we will ever see."

In unison, the rest raised their glasses in agreement. "To Maganac," they said, taking their drinks, as the bodies of the madmen lay on the floor around them, and an agreement between the uncle and themselves fulfilled.

**Okay, to all Muslim readers, I apologize if I screwed that part with the Koran up. But that's what reviews are for, to let me know. So, to my two best, and anyone else, ready...set...review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**For all those that asked, the Rasshid is different than Rashid. 2 S is a worker. 1 S is the leader.**

Chapter 6- Acceptable Losses

* * *

The food was a welcome blessing to the civilians, relieved, at least temporarily, from the fear of starvation. Quickly preparing lunches and meals for their families, Afmad went looking for McDoland while Auda and Abdul gave out the food.

"McDoland! Good news!" he said, bursting into the man's quarters. But they were empty, cleaned to the point where it seemed like no one had ever even seen the room before. Looking for Houston, he discovered the Texan had vanished as well. Alaby, Sean, Patrick, all had disappeared. Finally, he found Chan, on the roof, deep in meditation. "Chan! Where is everybody? We have some good news!"

"They've gone," Chan said, not even turning to acknowledge Afmad was there. "Their contracts were fulfilled. I alone elected to stay behind. They are already on their way home."

Afmad looked down at the roof when he heard that. Of course, the men were mercenaries, so he could understand their departure. The contract had been finalized, and now, they would no longer be paid for their services. "So, why did you stay?"

Chan got up slowly. "I remained because I have become used to you all," he answered, walking to Afmad. "I see now something I've never seen before. I want to see it for as long as possible."

Afmad nodded, realizing something. Chan wasn't a mercenary. He was an idealist. The money was only a necessity, the real payment the destruction of ES. Chan wasn't like him, or Abdul or Auda, he truly believed he was fighting for a righteous cause. At least he was moral. The other mercenaries… "Wait, where are the others? The ones who stayed behind? Why aren't they here?"

Sighing, Chan motioned over to the side of the roof. Curious, Afmad went over, wondering what was on the side.

He later regretted it.

Below him, a mass grave. It was easy to tell, the soil disturbed so. No attempt was made to hide it, either. There, above the site, was a small cross, marking the resting place of the wild dogs.

"Chan…" he stuttered. "Why…What have you done…"

"It was in our contract," he said, standing behind Afmad. "Mr. Kurama said that if he should die, we were to eliminate those men. He said that without strong leadership, they would run rampant over the base, killing his workers and their families. He wouldn't let that happen, and we weren't about to let it."

Afmad just stood on the edge, staring at the soiled sands. "D-d-does Rashid-"

"Know? He does not," Chan answered. "As far as Rashid is concerned, the other five have simply gone, and those men are still in their separate quarters. Come, we must tell him sooner or later."

Afmad only nodded. Clearly, he had underestimated the power the six had possessed.

* * *

Young-Timar slammed his fist on the wall of the information center, face a personification of rage and murder. "How did this riot start," he said, through clenched teeth and furrowed brow.

"Um, it-it seems that a group of Bedouins…they started a disturbance in the rationing station…Other dissenters joined in…and then…" The young officer only had to look over at the screens.

The riot was entering its second day, and ES was no closer to restoring control. The people on screen were a frenzied mob, firebombs and rocks flying through the air like flocks of birds. Desperate soldiers made improvised defenses, trying to keep themselves alive long enough to be rescued. Most of the time, it was an effort made in vain.

MS were little better off, their weapons useless when so many cameras were present. Even with the amount of control ES had, there was little it could do when a Leo opened fire on a mass of civilians. It was a lose-lose situation for Young-Timar. To let the riot continue would embolden the very rebels he was fighting, and to put it down would create even more rebels from the ashes. The voiceover from the news reporter did nothing to help matters.

"-Seems to be continually growing in momentum, as hundreds more people all over the city join the rebels." The camera zoomed in, to show the people cheering madly, men, women and children, all rising up as one. "The cause of the disturbance, though still unknown, is thought to be the result of the latest Earth Sphere law that states rations in such areas will no longer be distributed without the presence of an ES ID card."

Young-Timar swore. "That idiot!" He ground his teeth in fury, wanting to kill the reporter. "Doesn't he realize that telling the people gives them a cause!"

"Sir!" Turning with burning eyes, Young-Timar saw one of the younger officers there, a scared look on his face. "Coward," he thought. "Scared when the fighting is so far away." Quickly storming over to the man, he grabbed him, his emotions riding roughshod now. "What! What is it that you have to say!"

The officer only pointed to the screens. Turning his head so fast he almost got whiplash, Young-Timar paled as the announcer droned on.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, clearly nervous. "I have been told by my superiors that we are cutting the broadcast and will be landing at the base where these men are based. That is all for now." With that, the connection cut.

Young-Timar's men and officers just looked at him, expecting a trademark tirade or boastful comment. When none arrived, they grew tense, until…

"Give all remaining units permission to use all available force to end the uprising. Their orders are to fire on all dissenters, not matter the age or sex." With that, he stormed back to his office, slammed the door, grabbed his whiskey and drank himself stupid.

* * *

When the order came out, Rasshid was leading a charge on an ES position, busy using a taken rifle to kill it's former owners. Behind him, a screaming mass of hundreds rushed to his side, singing ancient war songs kept alive for this very moment. Women nursed the men or grabbed rifles themselves, as children ferried supplies. In minutes after he had joined the fighting, Rasshid had learned a few had planned for such an incident, the divisions of labor their handiwork.

Of course, that was before Young-Timar's order came over the airwaves. When it did…

Hell truly arrived.

The MS, free of the all-seeing helicopters, fired with impunity, turning whole neighborhoods into rubble and bodies, the fires lit anew. ES troops were free to let their fury loose, better trained than angry civilians. Before Rasshid even knew what was happening, a full half of the civilians with him were killed by the very position they were trying to take.

Without warning, gunfire erupted from everywhere. It had not occurred to any of the rioters that ES had hidden barracks or secret buildings, and they paid dearly for their naivety. The fire reigned over them, men, women and children cut down like fields of wheat. The few with guns tried to put up an effort, but were quickly identified and destroyed. From where Rasshid stood, it was as thought Allah himself had died.

Everywhere in the city, the rioters were exterminated like vermin. At the water park, where the affluent citizens once lavished their spoiled children with long days of cool, while the very rioters there served them under much duress. The MS lay waste to it, the giant slide toppled, dozens trapped underneath. In the city park, infantry and MS saw the rioters as a mass of crows, an unclean affront to their orderly world. Laser shots tore through buildings everywhere, protestors and innocents alike trapped under their crumbling facades. Tanks roamed the outskirts, blasting escapees into dust or riddling them with bullets.

Rasshid realized that things had taken a turn far for the worse and ran, ran like he never had before. He sensed his legs getting tired, but his mind only said "_**RUN!**_" What he saw on his way to escape, whatever that escape may have been, would haunt his nightmares themselves.

He saw a woman clawing her way across the ground, her legs vanished at the knees. Children wailed through blood-covered eyes, as men lay dead on the ground, missing heads, limbs, or any combination of mutilation possible. That, however, was a mercy compared to those hit by the MS lasers. For some, the "lucky" ones, they received a cauterized, missing limb, screaming with pain. For those with less luck, their bodies vanished in the air, the only hint a person was ever there a faint trace of the smell of burnt flesh. Of course, in such a battle, who could tell where the smell had come from?

Like the rioters, the ES troops felt their own switch flick, turning off their former garrison procedures. They became as savage as wolves, tearing into the fleeing crowds. The infantry took a little too much pleasure in the "handling" of the wounded civilians, their bullets cutting off the pleas for mercy. The MS crushed all in their path, the tanks a wall of steel around the city.

Rasshid couldn't believe what had happened. "What have I done? How did this happen?!" he thought, as he hid in an alley, far away from the fleeing mobs. After the enemy let loose, he had learned his lesson about being in a massed crowd. As he watched, he couldn't scarcely comprehend what he saw. A man pushed a child out of the way as he carried a computer above his head, a woman crying out for her lost child. The wounded stained the streets with blood, as screams and wails carried above the enemy fire. Seconds later, the crowd erupted into dust, and a massive foot stomped through, crushing whatever was left of the bodies.

Rasshid was ready to move behind it when a rifle barrel pressed behind his head. Slowly raising his hands, he silently thanked Allah. These troops had apparently worked their bloodlust out of them. At least, he _was_ thinking, until the one who captured him sent the butt of the weapon into the small of Rasshid's neck.

* * *

Dr J watched the riot from the very start of the broadcast, his cold eyes observing without a trace of his emotions. The riot had almost started spontaneously, without any cause other than the possible lie the broadcaster had put out. The rioters themselves were ordinary enough. What had started it, then? The same secret group that was defeating ES in the desert? Rogue elements of the colonial forces? Who was in charge down there? What were they doing? And what were their aims?

There J sat, silent in contemplation over what to do about this potential dilemma.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7-Messages

* * *

Rashid was deep in thought when the two came into his office, Afmad looking perturbed. "What is it? I'm trying to think," he said coldly.

"Rashid…well…" Afmad stuttered. "It's…it's about the other mercenaries…"

"Rashid," Chan jumped in. "You must think carefully about what you say after I am finished speaking. Do you understand?" Rashid nodded. "I and the other mercenaries eliminated the dangerous ones."

Rashid shot up in anger. "_WHAT!?_" he bellowed. "Who told you to do this? I thought you were under _my_ command!"

"We were given those orders by your late uncle," Chan said. "In the event of his death, we were to eliminate those mercenaries deemed dangerous."

"That doesn't excuse your actions!" Rashid said, grabbing Chan by the neck. "You should have consulted me _first_! We need all the fighters we can get!"

"You really thought yourself capable of controlling those men," Chan said, no hint of breathing problems or any other maladies. "If we hadn't killed them, they would have done as they pleased with your people and this base. Do you really think you were strong enough to control those men?"

Rashid tried to grip tighter on Chan's neck, his face screwed up in fury, until he at last dropped Chan and stormed back to his desk. "Get out, both of you."

Afmad tried to move for Rashid, but Chan held up his hand. "Very well, _commander_. Afmad, please come with me."

Not knowing what else to do, Afmad meekly followed the man to the main hangar.

* * *

Young-Timar slowly opened his eyes with pain, his head weighed down by the fine whiskey and last of his cigars. Groaning with the hangover, he dragged his body from his desk, the fine wood littered with bottles and ashes. "Jesus," he mumbled, the whisper amplified to a shout. "Now it'll take me months to get this shit back."

Shambling out the door, he was surprised to see his command staff not present. Not ready to launch into a tirade, he stumbled outside, doing his best to shield his eyes from the sun.

He would regret it for the rest of his life.

The entire base was outside, at attention in full dress, as a helicopter landed on the nearby pad. The MS were cleaned to perfection, too, marking Young-Timar's worst fear.

He was being replaced.

In shock, he watched as the symbol on the helicopter came into view, bearing the insignia of the "Specials".

Quaking in fear, Young-Timar bolted for his office, rooting through his drawers until he found what he needed. It wasn't like he remembered, not exactly, but his old sidearm would do for now, the same one he had carried since officer's candidate school. Making himself as presentable as possible, he strode to the front of his men, their shock clear and his hangover vanished.

Slowly, the chopper landed, Major Reanou jumping out before the wheels could even kiss the pad. Striding hurriedly to the hastily raised platform, he saluted Young-Timar perfectly. "I'm glad we can be civilized about this," Reanou whispered.

Young-Timar smiled back, the perfect shit-eating grin. "Of course. What kind of example would it set if the men saw one of their leaders do something like this!" With the sudden rise in his voice, Young-Timar pulled the pistol and leveled it between Reanou's eyes. "Now, get back on your helicopter, and never come back."

The men just stood stock still, faces unmoving. The sand itself seemed to freeze, afraid of moving Young-Timar's itchy trigger finger.

To the surprise of all, Reanou started to laugh. "Oh, wonderful!" he said, as he tried to bring himself under control. "I would've suspected you a coward! But now I see that you have _some_ trace of manhood!" Walking himself straight at the pistol, he grinned. "Go ahead, pull the trigger. Make me go away forever."

Young-Timar's face just froze. The reaction was unexpected, to say the least. Why had Reanou even come here? Was it really to kill him? Was he to remove him from command? What was happening? Why this sudden act of…He couldn't even think of a word for this situation.

"Here now," Reanou said kindly. "Let me help you onto the helicopter. You have to take on your new command now, remember? All the reports should have gone across your desk by now."

Young-Timar only nodded. "Y-yes!" He stammered. "New…new command…"

Gently, with a kind smile on his face, Reanou carried the dazed colonel up to the helicopter, patting Young-Timar's shoulder as he turned away. "Don't worry, sir. You're going to Base 86." Nodding at the pilots, Reanou leaped off the chopper, as the rotors spun up.

As the chopper rose into the air, Young-Timar worked out the mental kinks he felt. New transfer? He had never gotten any papers, so Reanou was lying. None of his men had any fear on their faces, though, so it wasn't a hostile takeover. So where was he-

It hit Young-Timar like a lead weight. "86". An antiquated term for being eliminated. One originating from hundreds of years ago.

Reanou had just "86-xed" him.

Grabbing once more for his weapon, he only grabbed his belt, yanking desperately at it for seconds, realizing that he was only grabbing at his pants. Pulling at his restraints, he discovered they were now soldered in place, leaving his trapped in the seat. Like a man in a car that had driven into a river, he panicked, whatever survival lessons he had learned washed away by the flood of instinctual thoughts to run and get away.

"Bon voyage, colonel!" the pilot said, as he and the co-pilot jumped from the craft, leaving the chopper and the colonel to hover in midair.

"Men of the Arabian outpost, today ends the career of a well-intentioned but sadly misguided officer," Reanou started. "While the good colonel tried his best to bring to heel the recent rash of rebel attacks, he was overwhelmed by the sheer viciousness and brutality of the enemies actions, and could not keep himself in a proper state to command. And so, it is with honor in my breast that I take the command of Colonel Harold Young-Timar, a good and loyal soldier to the end."

"_GAR-ISON! Sal-UTE!"_ The men snapped to perfect attention, remembering the few good times the colonel had provided for the first time in ages.

Young-Timar whimpered silently, no one to ever hear his last words, his memory preserved by whatever whitewash the Specials decided to use. Desperately, he tried to recite the prayers taught to him by his grandmother, bits and pieces falling between the cracks and sobs in his voice. Looking out the window, he saw the base, becoming smaller and smaller as the chopper kept rising. The pilots had undoubtedly reached ground by now, safely and calmly proceeding to their new home.

"You may have won my command, Reanou," he whispered hoarsely. "But you will never win this fight…You know nothing of men…"

A brilliant flash erupted in the sky, forcing all eyes on it, the light small but intense. Reanou just watched it, the beautiful blossom of the smoke, the gentle traces of flame inside the dark cloud. Humming contentedly, he walked to the command center.

* * *

Rasshid blinked awake, gore and dried blood caked over his left side. His ribs ached horribly, and his chest throbbed as though he had just gone through the world's most one-sided boxing match.

"Hello?" he yelled softly. "Is there anyone here? I'm sure this misundestanding is being dealt with…Can anyone hear me?" he said with a nervous smile, afraid to show to much, for fear that whatever had occurred in his sleep happened again. "I'm willing to comply?" Of course, he wasn't. But Chang had advised them all to play along with the enemy, in exchange for intelligence and a way to get out. This was just his first real acting job.

A door slammed open on the prison wall, and a shadow stomped in. The boots, however, were only a small fraction of the beast before him. The soldier was at least 6'3", with 130 lbs on Rasshid easily.

"Um, are you the one they sent to talk to me?" Rasshid said as the man walked towards him. "Um, listen, I know I was at the scene of the riot, but, please, understand! If I had gone near the ES positions, I would have been shot by mistake. I mean…Please! My family is starting to starve!"

The man just smacked Rasshid across the face, almost breaking the poor captives jaw, cracking his teeth against one another painfully. "_YEEEEEEAAAAAAARRGGGGHHH!!_" Rasshid's nerves screamed in pain, as the electrical impulses raced back and forth from his mind, the hit opening once more the wounds on his face. "Jesus! What the hell! I've told you, I didn't mean to do it!"

Another smack came right across Rasshid's face, sending more suffering through his mind.

"You lie to us," said a voice, much older and drier than Rasshid's. "We've researched your face. Rasshid Tupola. Fathered by Russian descendants from the wars in Afghanistan so long ago. Working with the Kuram MS Corporation…_until you died_."

"W-w-wha…" Rasshid said, trying to put on a smile of innocence. "I…I don't know what you're talking about! I'm just a nomad! I admit, my actions were…_violent_…but to keep me like-" _SMACK!_

"Do not try to fool us, boy," the voice said again. "We know the truth now. Your pathetic force is revealed, and now it is only a matter of time before you and your _weak_ allies are destroyed like vermin. You," the box said to the guard. "Take him to Room 101. He will serve our purposes well."

Nodding, the man simply hoisted Rasshid over his shoulder, with no regard to the man's injuries, and carried the rebel to "Room 101".

* * *

"J," O said, "You can't be serious."

"He's right," S nodded. "These men are too green to be completely confided in. Besides, the plan is still forming in our minds! We have to take this one step at a time. To move any faster would destroy everything we've worked for!"

"Your concerns aren't without reason," J said, as his "eyes" moved about. "But be reasonable. To simply send five suits down without backup is nothing short of suicide. We need allies on the planet."

"Allies who can't be compromised," G retorted.

"No, they won't be leaked. They're too new, too green. If ES really did know about them, we would see no more. Who has taken the Arabian deserts?"

"That would be me," H said, raising his hand slightly. "But these men…the pilot I've selected may not be the best choice to work with them."

"He'll be fine," J said, waving away the concerns. "The Arabian nations are proud warriors. Once word of this riot leaks, as well as the eventual…'eliminations'…the stage would be perfectly set. So, all in favor of contacting these rebels?" Three hands were raised. "Very good. That's all for the vid-conference, gentlemen. Let's get back to work."

They all nodded, but G kept his screen on for another second. "Yes, G? You have something to add?"

"Just this," he sneered. "When men become despaired with a new direction, they look to their former oppressors, and the way they know things work. This way, when they eventually sell out their comrades, they get a decent cell. Remember that, J."

And with the warning, the feed was cut.

* * *

Rashid was looking over the production floor in silence, still trying to piece together the shards of his old life. The riot had brought in vital food, true, but at the cost f hundreds, maybe thousands of lives. Inadequate didn't begin to describe how he felt. The objective was only to get food out of the city before they all starved. This…was it murder?

Rashid sat down, trying to think over the actions that had taken place. "Murder?" he thought. "No, it can't be murder! I didn't _tell_ them to start a riot! The men did this on their own, simple as that!"

"_Oh really?_" his conscience chimed. "You're _the leader. Saying it wasn't your fault the riot started is like saying your uncle isn't dea-_"

"Shut up!" he screamed in his head. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen! I wasn't there!"

"_That's right, you _weren't_ there. You were to busy moping over a loss._"

"He was my only family," Rashid countered. "My only family that still remembered I even _existed_!"

"_And now what,, Rashid, you'll mope some more? You will have to face the fact that your uncle will not come back-_"

"Rashid!" Spinning towards the office door, Rashid saw Chan, with the first real look of worry on his face that Rashid had ever seen. "The television…one of ours!"

Snatching the remote from the desk, Rashid quickly flipped through the channels, genuine concern flooding his mind.

"This product-" "Que pasa-" "-And improved-" "-Itizens of Earth Sphere-" "-Lifts and enhances-" "-Ark but brief chapter in our history draws to a close."

* * *

On the screen was an immaculately dressed man, around his thirties. Behind him was a line of men, all wearing similar uniforms, but none so elaborate as the speakers. Every bit of brass was polished, the dress tunic pure dark blue and starched more than enough. That wasn't what drew Rashid's eye. There, on the floor, kneeling, was one of his uncle's men. His face was a red mess, new and old blood mixed together disgustingly. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and what clear skin there was hosted a bevy of bruises and scratches. He was breathing heavily, but was not crying. "Wait," Rashid thought. "Why would I notice _that_, of all things?"

"To zay what has 'appened over zese past few days was an accident would be a _brutal_ and '_orrible_ mistake. What really 'appened was the release of so much pent up aggresion against a government that has done little to aid it's most needy." The man paused, looking down at the podium he was speaking from, then stared straight into the cameras. "From this day forward, the forces of the Earth Sphere Unified Nation will do away with the ID card requirement that has caused such problems in this area to grow to such proportions, and will also make sure that there is an equal and fair distribution of foods and dried goods among both military and civilians." Then, the determined look on his face went to one of regret. "Sadly, we cannot let such actions go unpunished. I must warn our viewers that the footage you are about to witness is of a graphic and violent nature, and that all small children should be removed at the parent's discretion."

Without pause, two of the soldiers from the back hoisted the hostage up and carried him to the back of the room, where a post of concrete had been erected. Almost instantly, the poor wretch was hoisted up on it, head hanging loosely towards the ground. The speaker walked over. "Have you any last words?" he asked, his voice brimming with genuine concern.

The hostage just spat in the man's face.

Gently wiping away the spit, the speaker just looked gently at the tied up man, and, gently wiping away at the dried blood, he walked back to the podium, passing a line of four men, all with rifles. Clearing his throat, he spoke again. "Despite heavy debate, it has been decided that this man, Rasshid Tupola, will be publicly executed by firing squad, for the crime of treason."

The camera quickly panned back to focus on the firing line, poor Rasshid situated perfectly between the two inner members. "_Squad, ready…HARMS!_" The soldiers moved in perfect motion, their actions fluid and drilled perfectly. "_AIM!_" The men lined up their shots.

"One last chance," the speaker said from the back. "Do you have any last words?"

Rasshid gently lifted his head, the motion barely noticeable. "You can't win…" he whispered hoarsely. "You know that…you'll lose…the people will be free…"

"Very well," the speaker said.

"_FIRE!_"

* * *

Rashid collapsed into his seat, Chan rooted to the entrance behind him. On the floor, shouts and cries rang out, word quickly spread by the mercenaries not attending to their machines. Screams and roars carried through the air, as the news went throughout the base.

Rashid just sat at the desk in a trance. "_Well? What now?_"

* * *

J had watched the proceedings and decided now was as good a time as any to contact the new allies. Reaching down to his console, he quickly recorded a message and relayed it to Earth, where, by the grace of God, someone would pick it up.

* * *

Carmen was so busy watching the commotion on the floor, she almost didn't notice the flashing light on her console. Hastily pressing buttons, she soon made herself freeze and calmly pressed the correct one.

A message flickered to life on one of the screens, on it, an old man, with strange glasses. "Whoever is seeing this, quickly press a save button or activate a function that will record this message. I am Dr. J. I am one of the rebel leaders up in the colonies. I have important information for your leader. If he is willing to respond, have his broadcast in two days in the area of colony X17593-HW8O." With that, the video cut, and a counter flashed on the screen. Remembering the save button, Carmen quickly sent the file to Rashid.

* * *

It took a few seconds before Rashid realized the beeping noise he was hearing was a message from the Comm. room. Clicking on it, he saw the same message, and thought hi decision over carefully, remembering Chan was in the room. "Have you ever heard of a Dr. J from the colonies?"

Chan almost pulled a double-take. "_J_?! No other letters? No real code or anything?" Rashid nodded. Chan shook his head and sat down. "J…and the other 'Letters'…well, most rebels on Earth had disregarded them as a myth, created by the colony rebel groups to lead enemy troops on wild goose chases! If you've really received a message from him…it could mean anything…"

* * *

**Sorry about how late this thing is. The muse has been been coming and going more often than I like. You know the drill, tell me what you think.**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 First Contact

* * *

Abdul looked over the dark blue barren sands with a mix of uncertainty and apprehension. The area chosen for the meeting was in empty desert, miles from any Bedouin routes or ES bases. The sheer amount of sand in front of him made Abdul think about how truly insignificant he really was. If he died, if they whole group of rebels died, the world would keep turning, the desert forever the same.

He quickly wiped such thoughts away. "Damn, I gotta stop thinking like that," he whispered. Thinking like that could get a man killed, or worse, captured. None of the group needed another execution, especially Rashid.

It had struck them all that he wasn't taking his actions as heavily as his late uncle, but that was partially expected. Going through such losses would weigh on any man, and Rashid still had far to go until he could learn to handle such things. Meanwhile, the workers were busy with mourning, though some were coming out of the lull much more quickly than others. It was still a dangerous time, though, knowing full well ES could strike at any moment.

Again, Abdul had to force himself to focus on the coming meeting. It seemed the legendary letters were all too real, and willing to make contact with the Corps. From what Chan had said, they needed a strong force on Earth the would make an impact, and that was exactly what the Corps was poised to do, in time at least. Abdul knew they were just bait, though. More trouble on Earth held up ES troops meant for the colonies. The less enemy troops on the colonies, the more time and effort the Letters could put into their own plans. Really, a deal so simple an ape could figure it out. "Better hope the new ES commander is dumber than an ape."

Around him, however, there was a bustle of activity in the night. Men hastily set up tents and emplacements, however small and weak. The MS were buried into the sand once more, concealing them behind dunes and rises. Food and ammo were separated and stored, leaving them all to wait until the contact arrived.

* * *

"So," Auda said, checking the sight on his rifle. "You think it'll really be one of them?"

"Doubt it," Afmad answered, eyes covered by his temporary turban. "As far as I'm concerned, the Letters are just rumors from the colonies. If they were really as powerful as I've heard, we wouldn't be here right now."

Auda looked at his comrade, then back at the open desert. Whatever was coming, it would no doubt change everything he knew about the colonies. Until now, he had only dreamed about the colonies, half-truths and rumors spread by both the hopeful and hopeless. Some were believable, like the story of how the "Lady Dragon" herself had an MS blown out from under her during a colony riot. Others were nothing short of ludicrous, like how it was a _child_ that did it.

* * *

Rashid stared harshly at Chan, trying to bore into the man like his uncle would with shifty workers.

"If you're trying to figure me out, don't bother," Chan said, filling his canteen. "Better men than you have tried, and failed. I like to keep myself a private man, and I intend for it to stay that way."

Rashid cursed mentally for making his thoughts that obvious. "Can you blame me?"

Chan shook his head. "No, not at all. It's just…" he paused, thinking carefully as he sat down. Taking a sip of water, he continued. "I have been in this game for quite some time, and I have learned many things, both about myself and those I fight alongside. Your men are too green to separate those with nobler aims from those who simply seek power. You must remember that 'revolutionary' is a broad term to those in power, as well as to those who hold it. You are obviously in the game to make this world a little better. But what of the mercenaries? They oppose ES, true, but what about their loyalty? Have you ever thought that they may simply turn to the next bidder once their job is finished?" He took another drink. "Rashid, you must tread carefully with these men from the colonies. One wrong word, and it could all end in a heartbeat."

Rashid looked nervously at Chan, then out to the night sky, seeing a flaming shape in the sky. Once more, he found himself reciting half forgotten prayers, for mercy if nothing else.

* * *

As Reanou looked over the reports from Young-Timar's time at the base, he found himself shaking his head. "_Really, colonel, what were you _thinking_!_" he thought, as he flipped through report after report of stupidity. Destroying random villages, using "harsh interrogation" on wandering Bedouins, stopping supply convoys of "suspect" origins, it all made Reanou want to tear out his hair.

"Sir, I have a report you may be interested in seeing," said a lieutenant, carefully poking his head from the door.

"Quickly then," said the major, quickly shoving the other papers away to see the folder the officer was carrying. However, as he quickly read through the report, he noticed the junior man standing at stiff attention, a look of apprehension on his face. "Iz zere somezing wrong, lieutenant?"

The lieutenants eyes blinked twice before he registered the question. "Oh! Oh, nothing's wrong sir, it's just…well, the Lt. Col. wouldn't always receive new information well in times such as this, sir. We, the men, we decided that it would be best to tread cautiously when approaching with such things."

Reanou smiled at the man's timidity. "I zee. Rest azured, things will change once I establish myself here. Now," he said, handing the papers back to the officer, "Tell me what it says."

Looking at the packet of papers, then back to the major, the staff officer started to explain. "It seems a relatively small craft has entered the atmosphere in our area of operations. Intelligence says there is a strong chance that it can also re-enter orbit as well."

"Where iz it landing?"

The lieutenant flipped through some papers. "About 78 miles from our location. Isolated desert."

"Are you an intelligence officer, lieutenant?"

The officer looked at Reanou. "Well, yes, bu-"

"Tell me what you think this means."

Looking at the papers again, Reanou saw a small trace of confidence grow inside the man. "Owing to the increase in rebel activity in this sector, I'd have to say that they Earth-bound forces are either attempting to broker an agreement with rebel colonists, or it's a covert meeting between the rebels and a traitor."

"And out recommended action?"

"Deploy ever available asset, form a perimeter and-" He stopped when he saw Reanou raise his hand.

"As much as I admire your enthusiasm, lieutenant, zis plan vill not do. Instead of mobilizing every azet available, I want a scout team of four light armed vehicles, filled. Order the men to observe only. _No one_ is to fire unless absolutely necezary, iz zat clear?"

"Yes sir!" the man answered with a smart salute, turning and booking for the command center.

As the junior officer hurried off, Reanou smiled slightly. "_I'll give you zis, Timar,_" he thought. "_You've conditioned them quite vell_."

* * *

As Rashid scanned the distance, he spotted a shape growing in the sky. Training his binoculars on it, he saw the outline of a small lander coming in on descent a few miles in the distance. It's course would zigzag ever so slightly, if only to attempt to confuse any missile launchers trained on it, but even Rashid knew that once a target that size was locked, it wasn't getting away.

"Just remember to say what I told you," Chan said. "With any luck, no one will have to fire a shot."

* * *

As the craft slowly fell to Earth, retro-rockets fired off, giving much needed momentum to prevent it slamming horribly into the sands. Just as fast, hydraulic legs emerged from the underside, and, as the lander finally touched down, great jets of steam and pressure were released, easing the ship into it's resting place.

"Landing procedures complete, all personnel secure. Commencing meeting." The pilot turned to his passengers. "Remember, we have and hour and a half to get this done. Any longer and they'll be finding our bones a hundred years from now."

Nodding, the men quickly undid their restraints and moved for the exit ramp, already lowered. Two men armed with rifles moved to the bottom, and, after a quick check to make sure they were clear, they signaled for the others to come down, as another ramp dropped for the vehicle.

"Hey, you sure about these guys?" Harold said, slamming a magazine into place. "They seem a little too green to be any good."

"Don't worry," Howard said, adjusting his glasses. "They'll fit our needs perfectly."

* * *

As the minutes passed by almost agonizingly slowly, a small cloud of sand appeared on the horizon, quickly growing, eventually forming into a small 4x4, closing the gap between the landing site and the tents.

"Afmad," Abdul said, looking through his own binoculars, "Can you make out the people in the vehicle?"

"There's about four," he answered, his scope at full zoom. "One's wearing a pretty funky shirt too, I can hear it from here!"

"I don't care what he's wearing, just tell me what he's packing!"

Grunting, Afmad scanned each man carefully. "Just the usual rifles and SMGs, nothing that really sticks out. Just that _terrible_ shirt!"

Abdul smacked his comrade upside the head. "_Enough with the shirt!_"

* * *

Minutes passed, and the car finally stopped in front of the tent, visible and concealed shooters surrounding the area. Slowly, the men exited the vehicle, clearly showing their arms and weapons, while Rashid slowly approached, Chan covering him.

"Welcome to this meeting, brothers," he said, trying hard to not sound nervous. "I am the leader of this group. This is my second in command," he said, motioning to the Korean. "He will be present for the negotiations."

The man in glasses and bright shirt nodded. "Very well." He turned to his men near the car. "Stay near the car, keep it running just in case." They nodded, sitting in their seats like they hadn't a care in the world.

"Keep it running?" Rashid stated, confused. "Running for what?"

"In case ES finds out what's happening," the man replied, entering the tent ahead of Rashid and Chan, the green commander not needing the Korean to say that it was a serious breach of etiquette.

* * *

As the four scout cars approached the lander, the lead car slowed to a stop, the others following suit. "Why're we stopping?" one of the drivers yelled, as the other soldiers hoped out and scanned the area, rifles ready.

"It's on this communiqué from the major," said the lead. "It states that once we were in visual range of the ship, we were to proceed to the meeting and open fire on it."

"Open fire on _that many rebels_?!" said another soldier. "With small arms? What is the Major thinking? Even Young-Timar wouldn't be _that_ short-sighted!"

"True," said the driver, as he got out of his seat and moved to the trunk, a smile creeping across his face. "But then again, Young-Timar never gave us these."

Raising the lid, the soldiers felt their jaws drop as the looked over the new weapons they had been allowed.

* * *

"So," said the man, leaning back in his chair, sipping at his water. "What's your operation looking like, for the time being?"

"We started a major riot without even trying," Rashid answered. "Coupled with the defeat of a convoy force and an enemy assault force on our base. I consider that an excellent start for our unit."

The man nodded, but made no show of emotion. "Yes, that _is_ a little impressive. But any rebel group worth the name has caused at least _one_ major riot, colony or otherwise, and convoys and raiders aren't anything for me to get to worked up over." He took another sip. "You have to understand, we need people who know what they have in mind. We need groups that have a clear objective on what they want to do. So far, all you guys have done is cause violence and mayhem. Personally, I like violence and mayhem, especially when it's inflicted on ES." He paused, and both men knew he was staring straight at them. "But my comrades need more proof. If you can pull of something big _without_ using those tactics, then we'll be interested."

* * *

Reanou was keeping tabs on the comm. center when the scout team's broadcast came in. "_This is scout patrol Omega, have visual on the enemy shuttle! Coordinates are Zulu 3820! Orders, sir?_"

"Omega, this is Parthenon," Reanou said as he picked up the mick. "Harass the enemy, force the colonists back onto the ship. Pull out if losses are suffered, is that clear?"

"_Roger Parthenon! Omega moving in!_" With that, the transmission cut, and Reanou smiled devilishly. "Broadcast the vid to every screen on the base," he said. "Make sure all the men can see this." The comm. officer nodded, typing in the appropriate commands.

* * *

"Here's a list of ES officials and high ranking officers in this region," said the man, pulling a few sheets from his flowered shirt. "We need them taken out so we can expand our operations in the region. However, they know our faces from the colonies. If you can take them out, we can make a few things easier for you down here." He started to wipe his glasses on his shirt. "So, we have a deal?"

Before either Rashid or Chan could answer, a torrent of lead flew through the tent, and screams came from all sides, while Rashid and Chan dove for cover, the man flew to the door, making sure to drop the list with their prone forms. "Remember! Take them out, and we _will_ help you!" With that, he was running for his own vehicle, as Rashid's men fired into the night.

Slowly, Rashid crawled to a series of holes in the tent, and carefully peered into the outside.

It was a madhouse, flashes of rifles and machine guns showing brightly in the darkness. Moving lights in the distance were signs that ES had found the meeting, and already were striking against them.

"Six scout cars," Chan said, kneeling next to Rashid. "No more, no less. It's a feint to get the colonists away, that's for sure. We'd best act as though we're retreating as well."

"What?!" Rashid screamed, ducking when he heard a few bullets get too close for comfort. "We can keep this going! We just need to get some Maganacs out here!"

"No! In this situation, it's best that our enemy thinks we're as scared and confused as they want us to be! We should show weakness now, finish this list," he barked, shoving the papers in Rashid's face, "Then come back stronger with support!"

Rashid looked as though he was going to argue further, but another burst changed his mind. "Fine! We'll do it your way!" He grabbed the nearest radio. "All troops, double time to the vehicles! We need to get back to base! Lose the enemy any way you can, just make sure they can't follow us!"

The men didn't need to be told twice, scrambling for their own vehicles and setting off into the desert, scattering like birds from their enemy. Their paths crossed and twisted, as the ES cars tried to follow. But the rebels moved to fast to be caught, and eventually fuel forced the soldiers to return to base.

* * *

Reanou's grin widened. "Did the transmission go through?"

The staff officer nodded, smiling with joy for the first time since…well, he couldn't remember the last time he felt like this.

* * *

As Howard strapped his restraints together for the flight, he grinned a little as the shuddering around him announced takeoff. They had managed to drop off the list, and now, their objectives were going to be carried out, one way or another.

* * *

Back at base at last, Rashid tiredly scanned the list of names. "Quite a few important figures here," he half whispered. "It'll be a bit of a challenge to get to them without alerting the others."

"Then we should hit them all at the same time," Chan replied. "I remember that, quite a time ago, the IRA attempted such a feat, and quite frankly succeeded with few casualties." Slowly, he sat in the nearest chair. "Despite the riot, none of the ES officials in the area seem to concerned about their safety, probably due to their comfortable feeling inside their own safe zones. To do this right, we need to be as a scalpel, with quick and deep cuts to the enemy cancer before it grows resilient."

Rashid nodded. "Very well. I want you to divide the men into teams, have them research their targets down to the last detail. I want transportation routes, living quarters, cars, habits, anything we can get a hold of." He cut Chan off before the Korean could speak. "Yes, it is a tall order with our capabilities as they are. But they're necessary for this to succeed, and that's what matters most. Now, divide the men, and give them the orders."

Nodding, Chan set off into the base, quickly calling for a gathering of the rebels.

* * *

As Afmad, Abdul and Auda filed into the briefing room, they shot confused looks at the others. In their minds, it was too soon to act against the enemy, considering what they had just gone through. The heat needed to die down, and the farther they were from the radar, the better it was to carry out the plan.

Whatever the plan was.

"Alright, settle yourselves," Chan said. Abdul and the other mercenaries had quickly picked up on the fact that he had never yet raised his voice at anyone, and that unnerved them a little. Even in their short time training the workers, the Texan and the others had at least yelled once. Yet Chan had never yelled, marking him as either very soft spoken, or a sealed can of wrath.

"Gentlemen," he started, clearing his throat. "Gentlemen, our friends from the colonies have given us a task which we must complete if we are to gain their support." A quick murmur spread through the room. "I know, it _is _very suspicious. But we need to use this opportunity wisely, or we will remain alone among wolves." A screen flashed to life behind Chan. "Our task is to eliminate the following ES officials and officers."

The first photo was of a regal looking man, wearing a fine tuxedo and holding on his arm a ravishing young woman. His nose curved upwards sharply, and his posture dripped of a "better-than-thou" mentality. "This is Count Ghram Derring. He's the chief administrator of the area, responsible for funding allocation for ES' military operations. If he were to be taken out, the flow of money to our enemies would at least flow differently for a small time. Enough to gain a stronger foothold."

The next photo was of a military man, in full dress at attention in front of the count. "This man is Gen. Johan Guttlieb. He heads the military planning and intelligence offices. He's also one of the more competent officers ES has. Taking him out would be a major blow to their capabilities."

"There are others, but all you need to know is this; we need information before we can take them out, and we need it as quickly as possible. Your task is to find the information, relay it to base, then proceed with their eliminations in any way you see fit. The only hitch is that this _must_, under _any and all circumstances,_ must be done on the same day. Is that clear?" A collective agreement. "Very good. Now, I suggest you all get comfortable. The colonists left quite a list."

* * *

**Yes, it's a filler chapter, I know. But my muse just decided to start kicking me in the b(OH MY!)s, and the creative juices aren't taking as often as I'd like. Don't worry, though, I've still got a story to finish here. So, if anyone is still actually reading it, review and tell me what you think.**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9 The Patriot's Game

* * *

As Auda slicked back his hair for the job, he felt dirty inside. He had to constantly remind himself that this was for the mission, nothing more. But the more he tried to convince himself, the angrier he became.

It seemed the only way to get to the count was to become one of his household servants, though "house" was a loose term to describe where the count lived. Derring lived in a palace, a leftover from the time when Arabs had ruled other Arabs, even if it was a horribly corrupt rule.

The area surrounding the palace was a green paradise, palms and other plants growing between well-trimmed hedges. Herds of groundskeepers and staff kept the outer areas in mint condition, as the house staff hurried between simple tasks. Most of the mansion was empty, or converted to work spaces for Derring's staff, who were forced to sleep in the nearest city, almost two hours away.

Auda wasn't the only one there, though. Afmad and Abdul had managed to get jobs too, as a groundskeeper and cook, respectively. Thankfully, it was always Abdul who had made the meals when they had the chance, so odds were he had some culinary skill. But to turn themselves into this? It made Auda's blood boil.

Other teams were spread through the area, observing the indicated targets, noting as many nuances as they could. It wasn't instantaneous, though, and the odds of failure were stacked high against them. The only ace they had was the fact that, for some reason completely unknown to them, the targets were almost all egotistical bastards or brown-nosing sycophants.

"New boy," the aged head butler, Solomon, barked, hobbling along on his cane, a perpetual look of malice in his eye. "Are you ready to start today?"

Auda tried his best to act nervous. "I think so, sir."

Solomon smacked his cane into Auda's shin. "I don't want to hear what you 'think'! Far as I'm concerned, you don't 'think' at all! You're nothing but extra from the gutter, so be thankful you even got this position! Now, get moving to the kitchen! The master will expect his breakfast soon!"

Bowing, Auda prayed that the old man would have a heart attack soon.

* * *

Abdul made sure the vegetable omelet and crepes were properly cooked before handing them over to an angered comrade. "My, what happened to you?" he asked, surprised that Auda was already angry.

"That 'head' butler," Auda growled. "I swear, we'd better finish this fast, otherwise I'll kill the old fart!"

"Easy with that talk," Abdul warned. "You'll attract more attention than we need. Now hurry, before those get cold."

A curt nod later, Auda was on his way, leaving Abdul to clean his utensils."Well, I see you work fast," said Rene, the head chef. "Most of those under me take much longer to finish the meals, but you! I don't think _I_ cook that fast."

"Thank you, sir!" Abdul said, quickly pushing the pans to the nearest sink. "I can't remember the last time I was complimented the first day on the job!"

"Well, you must keep in mind the fact that the master and mistress don't like to be kept waiting!" Rene replied, laying a chicken breast on a cutting board, and grabbing a large knife. "Of course, that's not saying they're bad people. They just have a bit of a different view of things, understand?" Abdul nodded, watching carefully as Rene quickly cut the meat, using the knife deftly. "Sure, being brought up as they were, they don't know how hard life can really be, but they have their own problems to deal with." Finished with the chicken, he twirled the knife in his hand before sliding it into the same sink Abdul had his hands in. "I feel sorry for anyone who would dare try to harm them."

Abdul swallowed audibly. "I'll…keep that in mind…"

With a smile, Rene was off into the rest of the kitchen, cheerfully giving the rest of the staff instructions.

* * *

As Afmad moved through the garden, he made note of the possible hiding places, the twists and turns that could be trapped to deter any pursuit through it. He made special note of the massive fountain near the center, and the thick outer cement layer that could provide cover. Then he snapped back to the task at hand when the wind started blowing the smell of fertilizer right up his nose.

Grunting, he pushed the wheelbarrow with renewed vigor, anxious to dump the noxious cargo. It seemed that being the newest gardener meant being the one who ferried the shit to and from the sheds on the property.

After a ten minute quest among the winding paths of the garden, he finally arrived at his final location, where the head gardener, Yussef, supervised the planting of a new patch of roses. The house staff labored hard under the burning sun, shovels and picks making their rhythmic path through the air, work songs floating on the small breeze.

"Ah, at last the final piece arrives," said Yussef, moving from his position above the others to see the load. "You made good time for a new man. Most take a half hour to navigate the garden. You will do well in this job."

"I'm only working, nothing more," Afmad said, bowing slightly. "If I may ask-"

"No, you may not," Yussef said casually, signaling to another pair of workers to grab the load and move it. "You have more work. Near the main house, there are two trucks with the rose bushes in the back. Bring them here, quickly."

Nodding, Afmad set off, scowling slightly.

* * *

Nasir adjusted the mirror in the cab, keeping his view focused on his target, Gen. Guttlieb, as the German moved from meeting to meeting, his staff fluttering to and fro like moths to a lamp. But his mind wandered elsewhere, stuck implausibly to Rasshid's change. He had known the man for some time, but had never known his young friend to have even the slightest rebellion in him. The only reason the old man had taken them and their families out to the desert was to protect them, and of course, they believed him. But when the fighting had started, when their very lives were risked, all for what seemed like an old man's foolish _pride! _It wasn't like the old man, putting them at risk, all because he didn't want to give ES a suit!

As the general entered his private car, Nasir's own door opened, and a well-dressed westerner stepped in. "Hamin and Jazil streets, Hajib, and step on it, I have a _very_ important meeting today, so chop-chop!"

Biting his tongue with anger, Nasir only nodded, cursing his luck as the general's car drove away.

* * *

As the days dragged on, the rebels were stretched and tossed all over their breaking points, and then some, ready to snap at the slightest instance of provocation. Life in the mansion had not gotten any easier, and the tailing of a good number of generals and officials took it's toll.

Auda looked defeated as he came to the kitchen, his eyes emotionless and hollow. "Allah, man, what's happened to you?"

"That old bastard," he answered, gingerly lifting the plates onto his arms. "He says I do everything wrong…that I have to be corrected…_harshly_. But it's okay," he said, trying his best to smile. "We've gotta job to do, so we've gotta take this crap…right?"

"Don't worry," Abdul whispered. "Just a week more until we can proceed. Try and meet up with me and Afmad by the new rose bushes. We'll work it out there."

Nodding wearily, Auda went to the main dining area, where, as usual, the lord and lady sat, acting as though they cared about the staff."Ah! Mustafa!" Derring cried, as Auda came in with the trays. "Quick as usual! My boy, I'm glad we hired you!"

"It is nothing, sir," Auda said, bowing slightly, placing the food in front of the pair.

"Hm, it smells _delicious!_" Lady Derring exclaimed, he young face a stark contrast to her husband's aged features. "Who made this, Mustafa? I really should thank them!"

"It isn't necessary, madam," Auda said, removing the covers. "He only works for the joy of his craft."

"Quite a man, then," the Lord said, taking in a forkful of sausage. "Not many will do such work in this day and age."

"Oh, dear, you always talk like that!" Lady Derring giggled. "But please, Mustafa, pass our compliments on to the cook."

"Of course, ma'am," Auda said. Bowing, he quickly left the room, and checked his watch. When he looked back up, Solomon blocked his path. "Is something wrong, si-_AUGH!_" He clutched at his knee, pain shooting up his leg as Solomon withdrew his cane.

"I don't know what you have going on inside that sad head of yours," the man said, slowly circling Auda. "But know this. If the master should die, I will personally make sure it is you who pay the biggest price. Now, _get up!_" He slammed the tip of the cane into Auda's side. "You have more work to do!"

Grasping at his side, Auda glared at the retreat back of the old man. "Bastard…" he gasped. "Just wait…you'll get yours too…"

* * *

Rashid looked over the information the teams had gathered. As he had hoped, his uncle's men- "_No_," he thought. "_My men_." They were getting better, managing to compile lists of every sort, from workplaces, to mistresses, to favorite places to eat. He looked up at Chan, who was scanning a map with all the target locations plotted out. "So, the plan goes into motion in five days."

"Correct," Chan said, focusing on an ES official in charge of procurement. "If everything goes as planned, we can have this all a memory in a few days time."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Rashid said, putting the folders down. "We've done a fine job of keeping our men moving, but we will need more. Nine suits are out there in the bay, growing worthless with each day that passes. We need men, Chan, and we need them now."

Chan nodded. "Agreed. We could…well, I wonder if you would agree." Rashid signaled for Chan to continue. "I could contact the other trainers, ask them to return as fighters instead."

"Out of the question," Rashid said, rising from his chair. "You remained because you believed in us. They didn't because they were only motivated by money. Don't deny it."

Chan sighed heavily. "I won't deny that they were primarily motivated by the payment they received. But Rashid, they have been rebels for most of their lives. Once they hear of this massive step forward, they will see that this is a cause just as worthy as the ones they already fight for."

"I think we should discuss that later. Right now, we must send the message." Quickly, Rashid typed into his console, "TRANSMIT:LION IS LOOSED"

* * *

"Where is he?" Afmad whispered, pacing nervously around the roses. "He should have been here ten minutes ago!"

"Calm down, and be quiet!" Abdul ordered. "He's been having a hard time with that old fart, give him a small bit of leeway."

"Come on!" Afmad exclaimed, raising his arms for effect. "How much trouble could one old fart be?"

Suddenly, Auda came around the corner. Afmad felt his mouth drop as he saw his friend limp around the corner.

"Auda, what happened!" Abdul whispered, keeping his voice under control.

"The old butler…beat me…I think I sprained my ankle…" Auda answered. He quickly hobbled over to the nearest seat, a newly installed white bench. "He's been getting worse and worse every day. I swear he's got it out for me."

"Don't worry, we're gonna pay him back, tenfold!" Abdul said, pulling something out of his shirt as he kneeled down. In his hand was a small glass vial. "This is our plan."

Auda was grinning. Afmad wasn't. "Abdul, what about the three head staff in the mansion? They suspect us, they'll be the first to point fingers. The other staff, they're all innocents, but those three? We have to handle them."

"Don't worry, I have a plan for them as well." Pulling them close, he started to whisper, as the moon arced over the sky.

Nasir collapsed onto the seat once he was inside the apartment door. "I can't take much more of this, my friends…I may just snap and run the Kraut over on the street…"

"Then it's a good thing the orders just came through," Habim said, turning the screen to Nasir.

"So, do we actually have a plan?" he asked tiredly, running his hand over his eyes.

"The general enters his officer around…0530. Few civilians should be present. A small yield explosive should do."

"Do we have the materials?" A nod. "Do you remember what the Irishmen taught us?"

Habim grinned. "Well, at least what they told us sober."

* * *

On the cool morning of D-Day, around 0500, the alarm on Lord Derring's night table started to blare in the darkness, the Englishman groaning as he slammed the snooze. Groggily, he climbed out of the bed.

"Oh, dear, come back to bed, could you?"

"I can't dear. You know me. Once I'm up, nothing can put me down again." Throwing on a robe, he quickly moved to the bathroom, ready to freshen up, as the rest of the house staff woke early as well.

The track was empty when Col. Rolan was doing his laps. It was one thing he never forgot from his basic officer's training, to keep the body in as good a shape as one could. He smiled slightly at his memories of his younger days, then pushed himself a little harder.

The workers from the energy company were back again, earlier than usual, one already climbing the power pole, as the guards moved to make sure everything was in order. "Well gentlemen, show'em." Bored and tired, the two on the ground reached into their pockets and withdrew their IDs. "And him," the guard said, pointing at the man on the pole.

"He won't come down, sir. He's deaf," said the boss, going back into the truck. "Don't worry, I'll give him a buzz on his cell."

Nodding, the guard turned to look up at the man who was still shimmying up the pole. Then it struck him. "Wait, how could a deaf mean-" _FUWMP _"Wha-" He turned in time to see his partner finish his trip to the ground, and to find himself face to barrel with a silence 9mm.

"Don't worry, we won't be long," said the linesman, just before pulling the trigger.

* * *

"lt. Colonel, we really shouldn't be flying so low! Regulations state-"

"Don't tell me regulations, major!" Lt. Col. Brenner barked. "I've memorized more regulations that you've had women in your bed!" Laughing, he forced the fighter down to helicopter altitudes, enjoying the amazing views one could get going at near-Mach.

The three men on the ground looked like astronomers. Their bearing was that of geeks and nerds, their outfits clear and intentional. Their telescopes took up most of the dune, one adjusting what appeared to be a rather large piece, following the jet streaking through the sky.

* * *

Count Von Lunger made sure to leave a generous tip as usual for both the girl and madam of the house. In his position as chief press official in the sector, he couldn't afford a scandal in a whorehouse. Such things were understandable in the Americas, but not where the locals not only expected, but demanded purity.

As he walked out the door, he saw his driver had already pulled up the car, engine running. "_Good man_," he thought. "_Shame he's an Arab_." Walking over he pulled on the door, and-

* * *

The blast threw the man straight through the brothel window, his front a charred and bloody mess. Later, it was learned that the driver was already dead when the Count had come out, placed inside to preserve the ruse.

* * *

Col. Rolan's body was found only minutes later, followed by the bodies of two guards. The right side of Rolan's face was a bloodied mess, the ground near it littered with pieces of bone and brain. When contacted about the visits paid to the base by a trio of power company employees, the company stated they had never sent anyone.

* * *

The debris from the jet landed just outside the town limits, though the black box quickly led to its discovery. There was nothing left of the Lt. Col, the body of the major found nearby, a single bullet in his chest.

* * *

Nasir watched as Guttlieb approached the front of the building, his hands clasped firmly on the detonator. His palm was sweaty, his teeth clenched tight. His brow running with sweat. It was only his second time when he knew he was responsible for a man's death, and it still showed. As the general approached the trashcan, an unseen factor came into play.

A messenger ran from the glass doors of the building, screaming for the general. Instead of moving over himself, the general sent one of his aides, slowly moving towards the bomb. But it was a small thing, it had to be. Any larger and it would attract suspicion by anyone who would bother to look inside.

"What's taking so long?" Habim's voice said through the static of the comm. Link. "Why haven't you detonated yet?"

"He's not close enough!" Nasir whispered back. "I can't detonate until he gets closer!"

"You fool! Don't you remember why we put the bomb in the closed metal trash can!"

It took a few seconds for Nasir to realize, then, with only the slightest pause, he pressed the button.

* * *

"Ah! Solomon! I didn't expect to see you here! Tell me, where's young Mustafa?"

"I don't know sir," the geriatric said, slowly placing the platter on the table. "Rest assured, when I find him, he will be reprimanded."

"Don't be too hard on the boy, now," said Lady Derring, as she took one of the plates from the platter. But Solomon quickly stopped her.

"Apologies, my lady, but that one is your husbands. For some reason, the usual cook isn't present either. That and the early hour threw Rene off his guard. Rest assured, your meal will be out shortly."

"Of course, Solomon. That will be all," Derring said, nodding for Solomon to leave.

"Sir!" cried the butler that monitored the Lord's phones. "Sir, I have some important news from the city-"

"Whatever it is, it can wait until after breakfast," Derring said, taking a bite into his ham and egg omelet. "Mmmm! As usual, a fine job. Now, what is…is it…you *cough*! You *hack COUGH* What! *cough cough*

"Dear!" Lady Derring cried, rushing to her husband's side, as he clutched vainly at his throat, trying to keep the poison from going any further. But in moments, his eyes glazed over, and his breathing stopped.

"_Solomon!_" Lady Derring cried. "_Solomon, where are you!_"

Eventually, Solomon came hobbling into the dining room, shocked. "Solomon, what happened! What was in the food!" Solomon opened his mouth, but all that came out was a series of gurgling noises. "Solomon," Lady Derring mumbled, starting to become hysterical. "Solomon, why won't you _answer_ me!"

Solomon just stopped gurgling and collapsed onto the floor, causing the lady to shriek even more, almost clawing at her eyes to make the image go away.

* * *

As Yussef ran through his keys for the ones for the fertilizer shed, he heard a small commotion running through the garden, with staff running quickly for the house. "_Must remember to punish them for that,_" he thought, as his hand landed on the right key. Smiling slightly, he undid the lock and opened the doors. Quickly, his face went from amusement to shock, as he saw the head chef, Rene, tied up inside, with wires running all over the bags of fertilizer. "Oh my Go-"

* * *

The explosion ripped through the gardens, the new rose bushes consumed in the resulting fires. All over the sector, reports filtered in of dead officers and officials, impossible to cover up even for the most determined spin doctor.

"_Reports are still coming in, but it is estimated that at least a dozen Earth Sphere leaders are dead, with many more recovering in the hospital. Information on the terrorists is demanded, with a reward of over-_"

J smiled. "Howard, make another meeting. They're almost ready."

Reanou smiled as well at the report. "Just as planned, _mousier_, just as planned."

**I have only one request. Let me know what you gusy think. Oh, and happy 4th of July! Extra fireworks if you pick up the title reference!**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 Ar Riyad Blues

* * *

"That was some fine work, Rashid," Howard said over the vid-connection. Despite assuring the security of the link, Rashid still had Chan ready on the kill switch, poised to hit it at the slightest sign of a trace. And, despite being closer than both the moon and most colonies, the transmission was slightly distorted.

"I've been going over s*bzzzzzt*-eports, and we're pretty impressed." The screen cut to a still of a man laying dead on the street. "This one from bullet wounds in a drive by." Another still, this one of a man shot in the side of the head. "This one in what appeared to be an alleyway mugging." A final still, showing an aerial view of the Derring mansion. "And finally, four deaths, one Lord, and three servants known to be abusive and threatening to the other staff." Howard's image grinned evily. "I have to say, the DMSO on the old bastard's cane was quite original."

"Well, it was all part of the job," Rashid replied. "Now, about those contacts you were going to set up-"

"Up, up, up, there, Rashid! I said we'd _help_ making the contacts! And my bosses want one more show, just to make sure of a few things. That's all, no more leading you boys on."

"How _dare you!_" Rashid screamed, slamming his fist down onto the top of the console. "We go through all that risk and danger, and you have the _gall_ to-"

Chan signaled for Rashid to hold his tongue. "We understand. Please, continue."

Howard nodded. "One of theeeeeeeee- ger problems up here are the vehicles of ES. Everything that has ann- ngine has it's fuel regulated very strictly. We need their supplies taken out." A satellite photo of a desert area appeared next to Howard's face. "This here is the Burgan oil field, in Kuwait. It's one of ES' primary drilling and refining centers in the Mideast. We've figured that taking this facility out will restrict the enemies movments, at least somewhat."

"And _then_ you'll _help_ with those contacts?" Rashid growled.

"Of course. Just take out the field, and we'll help with those contacts," Howard answered. "That's all for now, Howard out."

Rashid turned off the screen, and turned to look at Chan. "What happened here?"

"They need a bit more proof. And there is some strategic value to this job. Taking out the field will definitely restrict colony vehicle operations. Believe it or not, MS aren't the all powerful weapons they're made to be." Grabbing a small glass of water, he sat down nearby. "MS were made to fight other MS, and maybe vehicles. On open ground, infantry are worthless against them. However, in cities and other tight areas like forest, the MS will always lose to determined infantry."

"So that's how you suggest we handle the power plant."

Chan nodded. "Precisely. The enemy will be so concerned with protecting the facility, that any attempt to fire on your men will mean a choice between a few dead rebels and a destroyed production facility."

Rashid nodded and picked up his phone. However, he paused. "Shouldn't we give the men some kind of a…well, break?"

Chan stared at Rashid, then smiled slightly. "Well, you really are learning, Rashid. Even I'd forgotten the fact that the men need some rest. However, we must make sure they stay in groups, in the seedier areas of where they're going. And they can't have _any_ contact with _anyone!_" he emphasized. "If their cover is blown like Rasshid's, it could bring down a world of problems."

"Are you sure?" Rashid asked. "I mean, it's not like they're _all_ criminals," he said, as the trio of Auda, Afmad and Abdul walked by the window.

"We can't risk it," Chan replied. "They found Rasshid quite fast, any more and it would be proof that someone is out there with the rest of the workers that have 'died'."

"Very well," Rashid conceded. "What about the other mercenaries? Have you managed to get in contact with them?"

"No, direct contact right now is too risky." Chan grinned. "Instead, I gave them something better. Rumors."

Rashid blinked. "Rumors?"

"Yes, rumors. Quickly substantiated by the massive cover-up ES is undoubtedly making for all the assassinations."

"Will it work?" Rashid asked curiously.

"You don't know the rumor mill," Chan replied, smiling.

* * *

Brian scoped the road that ran through the countryside near Crossmaglen. The day was quiet, songbirds spreading their soft sounds through the air. There wasn't any sign of the enemy, but since the area was a major battle ground, he couldn't take his eyes away.

"Hey, Brian," Patrick said, moving silently through the brush. "I've got some news-"

"Whatever it is, it can wait. You got those explosives hooked up just in case?"

"Aye, but-"

"Then _shut up!_" Brian barked. Patrick started to say something more, but decided against it. Whenever Brian pulled sniper duty, he always became focused, the rest of the world falling away.

As the hours passed, and lunch consumed, it seemed as though nothing was going to happen. Aside from a flock of sheep and a few cars, no ES or OZ were sighted.

"Now," Brian said, finally breaking the silence. "What is it that's so important?"

"Hm?" Patrick said, waking up. "Oh! The news! Well, it's about the Mag-" The sudden roar of a truck engine floated to their ears, and both men dove for the ground.

It was a pair of transports, moving what looked like parts for Leo. The massive trucks had to navigate the roads slowly and carefully, lest they find themselves in a ditch. The escorts were light, only one scout car and transport. Pickings too easy to ignore.

Which was why they had to ignore it.

It was an old fake, give the enemy what they want, and they'll jump at it. Patton and his 3rd Army did it with paper mache and inflatable tanks to fool the Third Reich. Many of America's greatest inventions militarily were just that, tricks to fool the enemy. Two simple transports were too little to risk, and so they passed.

"Anyway," Patrick gasped. "It looks like the Maganac's took our lessons to heart. Seems quite a few ES officials and officers were taken out a few days ago. They're running around like chickens without heads."

Brian smiled. "Looks like Chan's sending us a message. What'a you say we answer it?"

Patrick smiled.

* * *

As Houston worked maintenance on Sgt. Heert's Tragos, he shook his head at the way the sergeant treated his ride. The gears on the arms were wearing badly, and the finger and hand actuators were starting to misfire. It would be a major overhaul, one he wished he didn't have to do. Heert would be breathing down his neck the whole time.

"Hey Houston, got a minute?" said one of the other mechanics. Nodding, Houston slid down the ladder to the ground.

"What is it?"

"I just heard some news from the Mideast. They're finding loads of busted Leo out in the desert. Weren't you just out there a few months ago?"

Wiping the grease off his hands, Dallas set down his tools and started walking. "The hand actuators are going, and make sure the gears in the shoulders get looked at. Sgt. Heert expects it in service in about two weeks, so get moving!" With that, he disappeared from into the dorms, leaving the confused mechanic with a machine in need of repair, one piloted by an easily angered jarhead.

* * *

Alaby paused in his tracks, the other rebels with him quickly following suit. Carefully, he looked down his sights into the mountainous Haitian jungles, watching for any movement through the thick foliage. Eventually, it passed, and the patrol moved on. It had been a slow few months, ES keeping to it's strategy of keeping to the easily patrol able cities and slums. Food riots were the only way to make any kind of dent, though those were becoming less frequent now that viable farmland had been brought up on the island. Helicopters were still a great threat, and more and more peasants saw enlistment as the way out of the garbage slums.

Soon, they made their way back to the base, an isolated village off the main roads. Giving a quick reports, he went to his quarters to meditate. Seconds after he started, one of the men barged in.

"Alaby!" he said, irking the man slightly.

"Yes, Tomas, what is it?"

"News from the Mideast! You won't believe it even if the commander told you!"

Sighing that he would have to meditate another time, he strolled over to the small hut they called HQ.

"Alaby?" the commander said, a little surprised. "I thought you were off to meditate?"

"I wanted to hear the news Tomas is so excited about," he answered, without any hint of emotion.

"Well, it appears the Mideast is going up in small fires," the commander answered. "Killings, MS wrecks all over the desert, it's going to hell in a hand basket out there." He looked Alaby dead in the eye. "Of course, these are just rumors."

Alaby nodded. "Of course. If that's all, I'll be going back to my quarters. Sorry to disturb you, sir." With that, he quickly moved back to his bunk, his brain starting to whirr in his head.

The next morning, the other rebels were shocked to see Alaby's bunk empty, a faint smell of incense still lingering in the morning air.

* * *

As the container ship plied the route from Edinburgh to Bandar Abbas, McDoland was busy plotting the course for the trip, marking each turning point and ES fleet position as they were shown. Having heard the rumors from the Mideast, he decided that now was as good a time as any to move back to aid Maganac, since they seemed to be actually getting something done.

Which felt wrong.

In the span of only months, the Maganac Corps had accomplished more than many groups could ever dream of before they were eliminated. They were moving far too fast alone. Someone was pulling strings, and he didn't like it. The only reason he was going was because he and the IRA brothers were old friends, and he wouldn't let them go and die without him there to bring their bodies back to the "Auld Sod".

* * *

"Ah! Civilization at last!" Auda yelled, throwing back a pint in one of the few bars in Ar Riyad, _The Desert Rat_.

"Will you keep it down!" Abdul said, slapping Auda upside the head. "We don't want anyone asking questions!"

"Oh come off it!" Auda retorted. "We're high on the hog here! Why not have a little fun?"

"He's right, Auda," Afmad said, taking a sip of his drink. "We have to keep a low profile. We don't need to be found this soon, there's still a lot of heat from out job in Marrakesh."

"Pssh," Auda said, before going back to his drink.

Despite the trio and other mercs congregating at the _Rat_, the rest of the group made their way through the city, buying gifts for their families, entertainment, or at least some female companionship for the night, and the last for a long time.

* * *

As Namir watched the comedy, he found himself roaring with laughter for the first time in months. The antics of the American Pitt were made better by the man's age, and the plot of revolution gone to comedy made things all the funnier. Namir and the others made a game of it, pointing out where the flaws of the men on-screen made them. It felt good to be in a theater again, almost like they were regaining some semblance of their old lives.

* * *

"Oi, what's goin' on 'ere!" said an ES soldier, as he opened the door to the _Rat_. Instead of it's usually empty interior, the place was packed with people, ranging from white to dark, young to old. The usual women fawned over them, while the barkeep poured the drinks in a never ending stream.

"Wot's with all dese Arabs 'ere?" said another, looking at three at the bar. "I thought dis was _our_ place!"

" I dunno," said the first soldier. "But I think it's time we gave dese boys a right proper beatin'!"

Auda waved his arms frantically as he recanted one of his favorite stories to some of the other mercs. "And so me and Afmad, we're running like crazy to get out, and then, out of the bathroom comes Abdul, and he's still zipping up, so-" He felt his body almost lift right up from the seat, the grip on the scruff of his neck too strong to escape. "Hey, who the f-"

"What're you doin' in our bar, arab?" a very angry looking ES soldier inquired. "This bar's for soldiers only, not freeloadin' gits! Now git lost!"

"Hey, Tom, be reasonable here," the bartender said, trying to placate the already drunk men. "They just stopped in for a minute or two, they weren't planning on staying, were you boys?"

"No…not at all!" Afmad said, quickly playing along. "We're actually going to leave right now!" he said, throwing his money on the counter and moving towards the door, all the colored mercenaries following his lead. The white men inside just remained, not ready to cause a scene that would get them all killed.

"Please, forgive my brother," Abdul said, putting his arms around Auda. "He's what I like to call 'touched'." Auda felt a vein almost pop. "We'll just be leaving."

The soldiers sneered as they mercenaries left, then took their places at the bar, the women inside slowly warming to the regulars after their display.

"So," Afmad said, lighting a cigarette. "Anyone want to have a little fun?"

Nodding, they all split off in separate directions, then returned about a half hour later, each man armed with a club or shiv easily found in the garbage bins of the city. Nodding at each other, they moved into the bar, bearing their weapons with intent.

* * *

"Oi!" one of the soldiers screamed, beer goggles on and beer muscles flexing. "I thought we told you gits at leave! Dis 'ere's a _soldiers_ bar, so just fuc-"

Afmad swung hard, and his table leg caught the soldier on the right side of his jaw, flooring the man. Then the bar descended into anarchy, Guy Fawkes probably looking over (or under) the pub with glee. A mercenary gave an ES soldier a gash across the arm, before shoving the brokern bottle he was using into the soldier's cheek. A soldier and mercenary were at each other's throats for a few seconds, before the mercenary tripped the soldier backwards into the bar. Before the soldier could react, the mercenary slammed a bottle of whiskey into his head. Auda smiled as he shoved the end of a chair into a soldier's stomach, while Afmad and Abdul kicked and beat a soldier who had tried to pull his gun.

Five minutes later, the brawl had ended, the soldiers sprawled about the bar, few barely conscious. Quickly, the mercenaries dispersed into the city, finding their own means back to base.

* * *

As Namir and a few other exited the theater, he looked up into the night sky and was struck by the differences. Out in the desert, the stars and moon lit the night afire in a pale blue, bathing everything in a radiant light. The city was a stark contrast, it's light the millions of bulbs and LEDs inside buildings and on streets, cancelling out the natural beauty. It left him speechless as he moved towards the train station.

* * *

As Reanou looked idly above at the Arabian sky, he thought again on the plan laid before him. The costs were enormous, but the gains when it was finished were more than enough for him. The men at the base were merely pawns to be played, and that was enough for him. Sipping at the Bordeux, he smiled. "All in good time, then. All in good time."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11 Burgam Field Forever

* * *

As one of the mercenaries typed away at the keyboard, moving silently through ES manifests and transfer lists for the Burgam oil field, Rashid and Chan reviewed the plan for the actual assault.

"As soon as the trucks reach the final checkpoint, all passengers will be subject to a facial analysis scan. But the technology is so sensitive, a few layers of fake skin should throw it off." Chan then closed the briefing and looked at the assembled group. "As it is, the others won't be here until next week, so spend it by going over every inch of the layout and pipes. We'll try to fake as many of the iris scans as we can, but we won't make any guarantees. For now, go over your assignments and be ready. That's all."

Rising as one, the mercenaries left the briefing room for their quarters, doing their best to memorize what they needed, while Rashid and Chan went off to finalize their endgame.

"Remember, the placement of the bombs is crucial to the operation," Chan said, pointing out the junctions in the pipes. "We can't afford to waste our explosives on tertiary pipelines, we have to hit them right at the primary junctions, or our efforts will have been wasted."

"And what about the second team? They have their timing right?"

Chan nodded. "They'll arrive ten minutes after the first explosives, that's when we make our escape."

Rashid nodded, then looked out the window at the main hangar. "Chan, are things going to easily?"

"I'm sorry?"

Rashid started to walk around, hands in his pockets. "I can't shake the feeling that things are going to well for us. Sure, one of our own was executed, but we've hardly lost any men in battle at all. Nor have our operations been discovered, despite the ES satellites." He looked Chan dead in the eye. "It's like they're ignoring us."

"ES likes to be selective against its threats," Chan answered. "But I will agree, this kind of blindness surprises even me."

"Do you think this is a trap?" Rashid said. Chan just stood there, silent. He looked at Rashid, then out at the bay.

"Sometimes, a leader can never have the information he needs. A good leader would wait for it. But at times, great leaders take the leap of faith."

"Then I'll have to settle for good leader, then," Rashid said. "We suspend the attack on the field, at least until we know for sure why we're not on ES' radar."

Chan nodded solemnly. "Very well. How long?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Rashid said, annoyed. "As long as necessary. I won't risk losing my men."

"But we can't just sit here and do nothing," Chan argued. "We have to make some sort of strike, or else the colonies will start to question supporting us!"

"If they don't want to support us because we're cautious so be it!" Rashid screamed. "I have few men at my disposal, Chan, and they are at _my_ disposal. We will make a strike, do not be mistaken. But not yet. We will infiltrate the plant, but we will wait until the heat goes down. Any more attacks, and we'll be annihilated. Is that clear?"

Chan nodded slowly. "Very well. I'll go inform the men. If that's all," he said, closing the door as he spoke.

Seconds after the door shut, Rashid sighed, collapsing into his seat. He was getting better at maintaining the look of the man in charge, but it had definitely taken its toll. He felt his age advancing with each day, the issues he had to deal with tugging at every nerve and fiber in his body.

"How much longer can I keep this up until I break down?" he wondered, looking down at the bay.

* * *

The guards looked out at the scorching desert as the dust cloud from the approaching convoy came closer. Behind the gates, scores of workers, ready to get back to civilization after months out in the oil fields.

"Bloody same thing, every month," Chapman said, flicking his cigarette away. "Arabs start crowding around the gates, one of 'ems bound ta get 'urt."

"Always ze same thing with you, whine whine whine!" Jean said, tugging at his collar like always. "Maybe you could do somezing useful for once, like get us water!"

"Oh, come off it, ya git. We're done here in a 'alf 'our anyway, let's just finish loadin' 'em up. _NOW MOVE IT, YA BASTARDS, 'FORE I SHOOT ONE A YA!_" Chapman screamed, as the Arabs shuffled on and off the trucks.

* * *

"Accommodating, aren't they?" Auda joked, as he and the others slinked through the crowd to the checkpoint. "So are you sure this will work?"

"The guy I contacted said these were the latest, contacts that'll fool any retinal scanner. Still," Abdul, said, as they neared the machines, "I wished we'd been able to test them."

"No use to worry about that now," Rashid said, walking with them. "We just have to resort to plan B if this doesn't work."

The sun still tortured them as they edged ahead at the speed of a snail. Sweat poured in gallons onto the desert sand, as water was passed through the throng. Rashid felt close to passing out, though the paler members of the group were shuffled through much faster.

* * *

"Three years, North Atlantic rig, both of you?" The manager looked at the brothers oddly. "I'll be honest, it's quite odd to hear a transfer like that. Would expect a pair like you to move to the Canadian operations."

"Well, we'd thought about that," Brian said. "We both figured a good change of scenery would be a smart move for the both of us. But now that we're here, the heat's makin' me think this was a bad idea!" All three men chuckled at the small joke.

"Yes, well, new men get used to it after a time. Welcome aboard, gentlemen," the manager said, sticking out his hand. "I hope you'll enjoy the change of scenery."

"I'm sure it'll be one hell of a memory, sir," Patrick said, the pair leaving.

* * *

"Name?" the bored looking guard asked, not even looking at Abdul.

"Abdul-Mutaal Qahaar," Abdul said, doing his best to look as beat down as the others in the line. Though the fact that he was about to be the first to test the new contacts didn't help matters.

"Alright, get those glasses off," the guard said, holding the scanner up to Abdul's left eye. Slowly, Abdul removed his glasses, as the machine's laser moved across his eye, transmitting the data to a computer in the guard shack, one running against all know offenders and terrorists. For a second the computer froze, the program halted. But before the guard attending called for help, the result appeared.

"Alright, get in there. Next!"

Sighing with relief, Abdul walked inside the maze of pipes and paved road, the others flowing in smoothly. Eventually, the crowd from the gates was trimmed to the mass standing in a courtyard, as those identified were shipped away to darker pastures.

"Alright, I'll get this over with quick," said a fat arab in an ill-fitting suit, holding a bullhorn. "You'll be expected to work, that's what we're paying you all for. Anyone here who can't do his job will be replaced. That's all I will say. I'm not inhumane, however, so expect a warning if you're not doing as well as I would expect you too. Now get to your assignments. That's all." Handing the bullhorn off to a much younger man, he stepped into a waiting cart and drove away to the offices.

"That must've been the boss," Abdul said, getting annoyed looks from his friends.

"Well, let's get our assignments already," Rashid said, walking to one of the many tables. The job listings were alphabetical, Rashid's "Fahad Hamza" moving to "H". "Fahad Hamza?"

"Hazma, Hazma…yes, you're on drill platform four. Follow that man over there," the secretary said, pointing to a heavily tanned rough looking man with scars a plenty. Gulping, Rashid followed the man's finger.

"You da new man?" the man asked, Russian by his accent.

"Yes, I'm-"

"I don't want your name, new man," the driller said with a sneer. "I just need to know you're ready for work. You're here, so you are, now get in the truck," the man said, pointing at a beat up old truck from around the 2000's.

"Right away," Rashid said, expecting the truck to fall apart when he sat down.

* * *

"So, Chan, you seem to be doin' alright for yerself," McDoland said, walking through the hangar bay with the Korean.

"I'm only here to keep things going for Rashid while he and the others are away." Chan paused. "Though I really didn't expect you all to arrive back this soon."

"I'll be honest, I'm a tad suspect of someone," McDoland said. "Now, I'm trusting you here." He looked dead into Chan, looking carefully into the man to make sure he could be trusted. "I think it's that trio or Arab criminals."

"You mean the three from Merakesh?" Chan said, surprised. "I can't believe it."

"That's what I think," McDoland said, "But I don't have the facts to back it up. You've been here for the past few months, I need to be sure. If Earth Sphere knows about the Maganac Corps, they can certainly trace it to us as well, understand?"

"Yes, I certainly do," Staring at McDoland oddly, Chan went off into the barracks, the Scotsman glaring after him.

* * *

"You'll start immediately," the Russian said, about halfway into the drive. "One of my men has taken a few days for his first child, and the bosses agreed for some reason!"

"But it's the birth of his child!" Rashid said laughing. "Why shouldn't he have that opportunity?" Turning his head, he saw the Russian scowling at him. "Or not?"

"He should know better!" the Russian growled. "We're performing an important service, keeping the oil flowing to the colony garrisons! Keeping those animals at bay!"

"An-animals?" Rashid said nervously.

"De rebels," he growled. "Dose animals. In Russia, we always have rebels against the country. Here, there are rebels, there are rebels everywhere!" The man's voice rose steadily, his anger growing as he talked. "Anywhere great men try to build, these men show up and attempt to _destroy!_" His face started to transform into a mask of rage, teeth bared. "When Putin tried to bring us up again from the ashes of the weak, the Westerners and Chechens held us down! They didn't understand," he growled again, shooting a look over at Rashid. "Just remember, _I'm_ the boss, and it's _my_ thought that count, no one else!"

"I understand," Rashid said nervously, as the truck squealed to a stop.

* * *

"Here's the office," the secretary said, leading the crowd of new office workers into their virtual prison for the next few months. "Odds are you scored high on the intelligence area of your pre-employment aptitude test, so you'll mainly be working in shipping manifests and materials procurement. Small word of warning, don't try to access the internet here. The safeguards don't block you, but they do compile a list on each station, and the bosses don't consider games and message boards essential to work."

Afmad yawned, bored at what the woman was saying. He didn't expect to be in the office long enough to make too many mistakes anyway. Shame he had to be in this exact spot, too. Abdul had been sent of one of the pump control rooms, but Auda once more got the butt end of the assignment, being placed as a food line worker. Chuckling at the man's apparent run of misfortune, he followed the secretary into the coffee room.

* * *

"So, you used to survey out in Texas before the fields ran dry, right Mr. Travers?" the guard said, driving Houston out to the prospect fields.

"That's right," Houston said, grinning. "I was part of the team that found the last few wells that are still around today. They're bound to run dry soon, sure, but I'll be damned if we weren't proud of ourselves!" Of course, that part was true. Only he it wasn't for drilling. It was for booby trapping. Even after seven years, ES still hadn't found all the explosives. With a small smile, he looked out at the desert. "So what are we looking for?"

"We think there's a large well about four miles out from the main facility," the guard said. "We have some exploratory wells, but we haven't found anything."

"Well hell, boy, you should've called in a Texan sooner! We live so close to the stuff, we can practically smell it!"

"Playing up the stereotype, aren't we?" the guard said, smiling a little. "Next thing you'll do is pull out a revolver!"

"Never know," Houston said, as the jeep drove off into the desert.

* * *

Hours turned into days, into weeks, into two months. Having learned the proper workings of the facility, the infiltrators decided now was the time to act, meeting in the facilities employee bar on payday.

"So, we're all set?" Rashid asked, yelling over the music and laughter.

"Damn straight," Houston said, taking his whiskey from a waitress. "The charges should be set as our linemen make their morning rounds. Once that's done the men in the control rooms will route all the oil to those sections just in time for the explosives to make the maximum-" He paused as a guard walked close. "Maximum damage. I've also managed to lead the prospectors away from the real wells, it'll be years before they find any oil in Burgam field."

Rashid nodded. "And our escape?"

"I've managed to contact base, they'll be here with trucks and suits to cover us. The base guards only have a few vehicles, escape shouldn't be too difficult."

"Very well. What time?"

"Night shift. All the workers should be evacuated with the first explosions, there should be little collateral damage."

"Hmm." Looking over the bar, Rashid saw his men congregating around their tables, and he nodded, letting them know that tomorrow night they would set the plan in motion.

* * *

As the sun rose on Burgam field, the workers moved about their business, guards checking IDs at the most sensitive areas. Out at the drills, however, the men were already at their hardest working, and would not rest until noon.

"C'mon, get that hooked up dere!" the Russian yelled, watching Rashid and the others get a line hooked up from the derrick to a waiting tanker. In the Russian's mind, the slower the work, the less money, injuries be damned. Rashid and the other men worked quickly, though clearly not fast enough for their slave-driver of a boss.

"Right, get back up here and keep the pump running! We have three other wells to get to today, move now!"

Growling, Rashid followed the other workers into the ancient pick-up and were taken to the next group of derricks, when the radio crackled to life. "_Runner 3, pick-up, over_."

"Runner 3, go ahead."

"_Runner 3, Runner 8 had a breakdown of their vehicle, they'll need some help finishing their rounds, can you get them some help?_"

"What sector were they working in today?"

A pause. "_Sector 9. Is that a yes?_"

Rashid froze with fear. Sector 9 was all the way on the other side of the fields! Of course the man would accept, he was mad! By the time the bombs went off, he would be at least three miles away from the rendezvous.

"Roger, we'll take care of the rest of nine." Slamming the radio down, he went off. "Idiots!" he yelled. "I always tell dat idiot, keep your truck in good condition!" Growling some more, he drove to the rest of the rigs he was assigned to, Rashid doing his best to hide the worry on his face.

"Something wrong?" one of the other workers said, shaking Rashid's shoulder.

"He's just frightened to be on the receiving end of the boss' overtime," another man said, grinning. This man was one of the more experienced workers, who had stayed with the Russian for a reason Rashid' didn't real want to think about. "Don't worry boys! Overtime will more than pay for this!"

Rashid numbly nodded, as the sand filled the air behind him.

* * *

The day turned slowly to night, the rebels quickly moving to their assigned places with their explosives, as the men in the pump rooms silently rerouted the lines to send their contents into those specific areas. By the time the alarm could be raised, it would be too late.

"We set?" Houston said, as the members of the Corps assembled.

"The men in the pump rooms should be on their way here now," Brian said. "We should start moving to the rendezvous, just to be on the-"

"Wait!" Patrick yelled. "Where's Rashid?"

Houston's eyes widened in revelation. "Oh shit! His bombs, they weren't set! Oh, Goddamnit, we're in trouble now!"

"Don't worry about it!" Afmad said. "We have to get outta here now! He's part of the drillers, we could just make a quick detour to the fields-"

"There's over three miles of fields, you idiot!" Brian bellowed. "If we took the time to search for him, we'd waste too much time!"

"He's right," Abdul said. "We have to get out of here now. If Rashid had any sense, he'd play along until he had a chance to escape."

Nodding solemnly, Afmad followed Houston and the others to a waiting bus one of the men had managed to procure. Reaching a checkpoint, Houston nodded for the driver to gun it, slamming the gate on the perimeter before the guards had a chance to react. Minutes later, the bombs went off all over the facility, doing irreparable damage in many areas, and lighting the valuable oil reserves alight. The night sky lit up with flames, the tremor of the blast smashing windows and throwing men to the ground. A few were unfortunate enough to be close to one of the sites, their bodies evaporated with the blast. Chaos erupted, and men scrambled to designated evacuation areas. The only problem was a missing bus meant to be used for another group of workers. When the guards hurried over to investigate, the man on duty was found dead, killed by a knife to the back.

* * *

Turning at the sound, Rashid saw the blast from the drill he was working, the men there dropping what they were doing to marvel and then fear the sight in front of them. The boss, however, quickly ran for his truck's radio. "Base, this is Traveler 3, what just happaaAGH!" Quickly, the man collapsed, Rashid throwing away the wrench and grabbing the speaker from the man.

"Men, I'm in sector nine! I repeat, I'm in sector 9! Get the bus to me, now! Sector nine drill elevOOF!" Gasping for air, Rashid stumbled away from the boss, the elbow to the stomach a quick distraction.

"So, you're animal," the boss said. "One of the bastards who _keeled_ my brother!" He picked up the wrench. "I'm going to make you _pay _for this!" Without pause, he slammed the wrench on Rashid's head, stars filling Rashid's vision. Unable to balance himself, he felt another slam into his ribs, and one more on his spine. Crying out in pain, he was quickly shut up by a belt to the face with the Russian's fist. Knowing he would be dead if he didn't do something, Rashid swung wildly, his fist flying through the air without effect. The wrench then slammed into the inside of his elbow, his left arm curling up, useless. His eyes were starting to fill with blood, useless. He tried to run, but he felt his legs trip over the man's boot, sand stinging his eyes. Blinking madly, he felt the metal of the wrench dig into his gut. Finally spent, he fell to the ground, panting. "You know what made me dis vay?" the Russian said, kneeling down. "My brother, he vas _soldat_. He vas good _soldat_, like our father." He leaned closer. "One day, he sent to the colonies. Then we get letter, saying he died in riot." Rashid felt the man's breathing now. "Caused by _animals_." He felt the man's breath on his face now, like a bull about to strike the finishing blow on a matador. "Now, _animal_, you die to avenge him."

A gunshot rang through the desert night, the Russian crying out with surprise. In the distance, a bus engine wailed, signaling that the message had managed to get to the rest of the rebels. If Rashid could see, he would've seen Houston hanging out one of the windows, revolver in hand, firing at the Russian, scoring a hit on the man's leg. The other workers tried to flee, but other rebels on the bus quickly picked them off with weapons they had managed to sneak into the compound through a very special mail order. Hearing the brakes squeal, Rashid heard footsteps. "You okay, Rashid?"

"Yes," he gasped. "I'm still alive…"

"I see." Without another word, Houston fired, the Russian's final warcry cutoff. Rashid heard other footsteps as well, followed by grunts and the sound of objects being thrown into the bus's cargo compartment. "C'mon, let's get you outta here." Hoisting Rashid on his shoulders, Houston carried the beaten man onto the bus. "Get us outta here. And someone get the damn medkit!"

* * *

"There it is!" said the Englishman, using the bus' onboard GPS to locate it. Despite all attempts to extinguish the fire, it was quickly spreading to other areas of the facility, and the bus wasn't needed so much to get people out, as it was to kill the men inside. "Two klicks to the west!"

Putting all his weight onto the accelerator, the Frenchman pushed the jeep faster into the night, another following close behind.

* * *

Pulling up to the rendezvous point, Houston couldn't believe his eyes. "No, no, no! What the hell is goin' on here!" As the bus slowed, he couldn't believe that there was only a pair of trucks and a large civilian transport. "Where's the suits!" he screamed.

"What suits?" the driver of one of the trucks asked. "No one said anything about any suits!"

Cursing the miscommunication, Houston ordered the men into the trucks. "I need some grenades, got any?"

The jeeps drove up to the bus, the drivers instantly suspicious at the lack of passengers. Using hand signals, the Englishman ordered six of the men to fan out and surround the bus, while the Frenchman and another guard manned the machineguns on the jeeps. Slowly, the guards approached the bus, weapons ready. When they reached the men had surrounded the bus, the Englishman leaned his men against the side of the bus, ordering one to open the door. Quickly, the man fired on the inside, then slid the door open. Seeing no body, he signaled to the Englishman, who nodded, telling the man to move further into the bus. Slowly, the man walked the corridor, scanning the seats for anyone. It would be his undoing. As he advanced, he didn't notice the hair thin wire that lay at forehead height, unfelt when one is wearing a helmet. As he advanced, the wire fell across his face, too late for his to do anything.

The blast was pretty much contained, the windows cracking, but the real damage came from the luggage hold. Seconds after the blast, bullets erupted from the hold, killing the men surrounding the bus. Before the men in the jeeps could react, their bodies were riddled with bullets as well. Stripping the men of their weapons, the Corps hurried of into the night, making sure to use as few straight lines as possible.

* * *

**I'm sorry this took so long guys. But here it is_, _and I hope you like it. You all know the deal by now, _Show me yo' reviews!_**


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12 Suspicious Minds

* * *

"Nice job at the oil fields," Howard said with a grin. "The forces up here are already feeling the pinch, they've heavily restricted their patrols to their bases and the surrounding areas close by. You have no idea how much that helps."

"Glad to oblige," Rashid grunted through his bandages. Days had passed, but a concussion and a few bruised and broken ribs and bones certainly took time to heal. "Now can we make some progress on getting some support down here?"

"Of course," Howard said. "We've already started putting a few 'donations' in some secured accounts scattered around the world. I've already sent the information, it should be there in a few minutes. Now, I'd recommend you get some rest. You look like hell."

"Thanks for the kind words," Rashid said, ending the conversation. "Now, Chan, what's this about a traitor in the ranks?"

"Traitors," McDoland said. "Plural. There's too large a run of good luck, lad, and it's makin' me suspicious. ES should've come down on us by now." He leaned in towards Rashid. "And I think I know who's sellin' us out."

"You're still not sure, however," Chan said. "Remember, we do need some proof."

"Proof my arse," McDoland said. "What exactly were those three doin' while the other men were startin' the riot in the city? Other mercs said it took way too long to get the trucks for the escape!"

"They probably had trouble," Chan said, his voice strangely calm compared to McDoland's yelling. "After all, the ES troops were probably on high alert. It can be reasoned they needed time to get things organized."

"You even bloody listenin' to yourself, Chan!" the Scotsman barked. "We don' have the time to do a bloody internal investigation! We need to find these bastards, and now, before they kill us all!"

"Both of you be quiet!" Rashid yelled. Both men looked over, surprised by the outburst. "We need to take things one step at a time for this problem. I know that this kind of thing needs information to flow. I need you two to let go some information about how a raid is planned on Turubah in the next few weeks. Watch the flow as carefully as you can. Once you find the leak," he turned to look at them with cold eyes. "Plug it."

Both men stared at Rashid before Chan regained the ability to talk. "Very well. But first, we have to find the reason. The US Army, before the wars, before ES, when it was still a power, used the acronym M.I.C.E. Money, Ideology, Compromise or coercion, and Ego." He picked up a list of names from Rashid's desk. "All of the mercenaries want money, some of them certainly have ideology. They could compromise, or could be coerced easily, and a few have a rather large ego for such a small operation. ES could easily give them the money or recognition they think they deserve."

"Including the both of you?" Rashid said. Again, shock flashed over the pair's faces. Rashid was catching up quickly on the game. He was already growing suspicious of them both. Not the workers, he didn't have a reason. He was suspicious of those he didn't know, because he couldn't vouch for their time before joining, and in McDoland's case, return. "Chan, McDoland, you both are going to take care of this."

"On it boss," McDoland said, leaving, Chan following behind. "Just give it time. Much as I'd like it, things like this never solve themselves quickly."

* * *

Houston was working on Unit 23, when a familiar pair of voices sounded behind him. "Time fer a smoke?"

"Not now, hombres," he said, closing the hatch he was working on and wiping his hands on a dirty cloth. He turned to see the Brian and Patrick standing on the platform. "I've got a few more repairs to take care of before the day's through. What about you two? Thought you'd be busy going over a few good targets fer a bombin' or two."

"Been doin' that," Patrick said, as he rummaged through his pockets. "ES is all in a panic since the field. They're runnin' all over their buildings, oil fields, everything they need to keep stompin' down on us."

"To true," Brian said. "Where's Alaby?"

"He said he needed to pray," Houston said. "But I'll tell you, that voodoo shit creeps me out somethin' fierce."

"Agreed," Brian said. "Mixin' the Church with that shit…strike me a' somethin' ungodly."

"You old mare," Patrick said, smacking Brian's head. "You're thinkin' 'bout a bloody faerie tale! That voodoo crap is about as real as the chance that angels would fly outta me arse!"

"Oh boy," Houston said. "Listen, boys, I'd love to discuss theology with you, in your own special way, but I've got some more work to do, so if you don' mind."

"Course, Houston," Brian said, as he and Patrick walked off, arguing about what was and wasn't myth. As Houston worked on the MS, he shook his head. "Those two make about as much sense as a cactus trip."

* * *

As Alaby made his offering to Bugid Y Aiba, he thought carefully about what he had heard about what had happened over the past month he and the others had been back. Someone was pulling strings over them. It wasn't any of the factory workers. They were loyal to Rashid's uncle, and so to Rashid. Even if they had managed to contact anyone in ES, it would have been sloppy, easy to find and quick to squash, maybe even turned to be used as an advantage. The mercenaries, likewise, knew enough about ES to realize that even if they tried to make a deal, they would be let go of eventually, like useless trash. Only one whose judgment was severely clouded would make such a decision. He shut his eyes, let his mind go over what he knew. The brothers from Ireland weren't likely candidates. Their utter loathing of the British royal family would turn them away from any offer ES would make, and from what he knew, they had no real family to speak of, so there was no one to threaten. Houston, like many Americans, was certainly set in his beliefs, but the siren song of money could sway him more. It was no secret that many American rebels and terrorists were failing from lack of funds and equipment. McDoland and Chan were the most suspicious of them all, though. Neither really said anything about themselves, nor did they make any effort to socialize among the other members of the Corps. McDoland spent most of his time tinkering with his guns and his suit, while Chan either sat in meditation, inspected his suit, or searched through the internet for any information about ES.

"Bugid Y Aiba," he said, "Guide me to this traitor. Let me root him out as a weed is pulled from a field. I must find him before he is able to harm me or my comrades. I employ your aid in this difficult task."

* * *

Reanou read through the reports and sighed. The enemy wasn't active anymore, at least not since the Burgham field attack. According to the initial reports, they had lost over 20 million gallons of unrefined crude, floating around in the atmosphere as smoke. The repairs were estimated to take five to seven months, and new work would have to replace a frightened crew of veteran oil workers. The group responsible had made no further threats, nor had they stepped forward for it, though the usual bunch stepped up to take the credit. Intelligence had already determined it wasn't them, what with the lack of horrible collateral damage to the workers and staff. The people who carried this out were not only good, they were smart. They didn't want attention, they wanted to remain in the shadows, perfectly content with their handiwork. It was going perfectly.

Treize was mad, Reanou was certain of that. But he had a plan, one that would work well. If all the pieces moved where Kushrenada had predicted, then Reanou was sitting on a goldmine. The Texas wells would dry up soon, and sea drilling had become dangerous from seaborne pirates and terrorists. The Siberian and Alaskan wells were frozen below permafrost, and not even the most conservative politician wanted to lose them. That left the deserts of the Middle East. And whoever controlled them. Smiling, he filed the reports away. In time, the loss of those barrels would seem small compared to what awaited.

* * *

"Impressive, isn't she sir?" the warrant officer said, as Zechs looked over the massive airframe still under construction, parts of the exterior still missing from the fuselage. "She can carry up to four suits! Now that's really something! They even say she could stand the blast from a beam weapon from two hundred yards!"

"I'll admit the craft is well put together," Zechs said, leaning on the railing of the hangar. "But it still doesn't possess the agility to evade an Ares or even a modified Leo. It's nothing more than a giant egg in the sky."

"But that's why she's upgraded with a full ECM suite, sir," the W.O. replied. "If things get too hairy, we just hit the jamming, and the enemy won't even know the time of day."

"A skilled enemy can still use their eyes and guns on us," Zechs said. He looked over the SST. "We can't afford to underestimate our enemies, even with the defensive weapons they've added to the craft."

"Of course, sir," the W.O. said, feeling like an idiot. Being talked down to by any officer was rough, by from Lt. Zechs, it was like a knife to the gut.

"At least the brass weren't completely idiotic. They actually had enough sense to use a fusion reactor for the generator. With what happened in Kuwait, I suppose we should be thankful. Hopefully we'll be able to give those desert rats the comeuppance they deserve."

"But why can't we locate them, sir?" asked a young private. "Our satellites are the most powerful out there. How hard can it be to locate a camp out in the desert?"

"You're basing this off the belief that those in intelligence have any at all," Zechs said. "The people in the satellites, as well as the analysts are always a step behind. They can never catch a threat like this until they're already taking the heat for it. We can't find them for the same reason we can't find any other rebels. They hide in plain sight."

* * *

The council's chambers in what was once the UN building were packed to capacity, all members and officers present for the proceedings. Along with the Middle East, several other trouble spots in Eurasia and the Americas were proving to be massive headaches for the Alliance, and the upsurge in activity was too large to be ignored. Someone had to answer.

"Please, please, everyone come to order!" Field Marshall Noventa said, slamming the gavel down hard onto his podium. "We need to keep a cool head during this time." He turned to another man, standing in front of a large screen. "Gen. Vente will first give us a briefing on the situation worldwide."

Nodding, Vente took out a laser pointer as the lights came down and the screen flashed to life, showing a world map. "In the past month, there have been seventeen noteworthy engagements worldwide, requiring intervention by mobile suits." Seventeen symbols appeared on the map, two in N. America, three in S. America, four in Asia, one in Europe, and two in Africa, and five in the Middle East.

"The Gulf of Mexico, the Caribbean, the Amazon Rainforest, the Balkans, Siberia, Southeast Asia, Palestine, and the Fertile Crescent. All known hotbeds for revolution and discontent, but lately it's become a larger thorn than the colonies, if that's even possible." The map shrunk, focusing on the area from Palestine to Afghanistan. "Over the past six months, attacks in the region, both with unregistered MS and by guerrilla fighters, have risen exponentially. However, we've noticed a disturbing trend." A bar graph appeared over the map, names underneath each bar, except for one. By now, many of the members in the chamber were supporting their heads on their hands or slouching, eyes starting to droop. "You can see here that all of the usual groups responsible for such attacks have been positively identified and have been handled accordingly. Al-Queda, Islamic Jihad, the PLA." The bar without a name underneath started to flash. "However, a large number of the latest attacks do not have any of the tell-tale signs that they were perpetrated by any of these groups, nor any from other nations." The members in the council sat up, taking notes on the new development. "First contact is suspected to be a raid on a supply convoy moving from Afghanistan to Iraq over four months ago. We also believe them to be responsible for the Abha Insurrection, the June 15th Assassinations, and the Burgham Facility Incident." The chamber murmured loudly. "We've also been unable to identify the suits the guerillas are using." A new picture appeared on screen, but a large laser blast took up most of the space. The little that was left showed desert sands and a small blur behind a sand dune, and arm, a weapon, and what looked like a head. "Our analysts report that this isn't any know mobile suit, nor is it an amalgamation of parts. All records show no indications of this model in any period. We believe they've been sent down from the colonies."

The chambers were almost in an uproar now. It took almost a minute for Marshal Noventa to bring things back to order. "Gen. Septim, what does Colony Intelligence have to say about this?"

"Satellite tracking states that a transport from one of the colonies came down to the Arabian peninsula. However, we've been unable to positively identify the transport or who was inside." Septim grunted angrily. "All we know for sure is that the Colonies, for all intents and purposes, are not behind these attacks in the Mid East."

"It's clear now that this force on Earth is acting of its own volition," Noventa said, before the chambers could react. "Our focus now is to reassure the various nations of the Earth that our purpose is and always will be the protection of the greater peace worldwide."

* * *

Weeks passed, and Rashid started to shed his bandages like a cocoon, walking freely among the base. Walking outside, he started laughing.

"What is it, sir?" one of the men said, one of his uncle's workers.

"We're exposed!" Rashid said. "We need to find a way to move the base underground, otherwise we're not doing anything else than waiting for the enemy satellites to pick us up!"

"But why are you laughing, sir?" the man said.

"Because it's unlike my old uncle to overlook something so simple on purpose!" he laughed, tears starting to form. "He was testing me! He wanted to make sure I could look out for myself and the Corps!"

"And you've finally wised up, I see," Houston said, coming out for a smoke. "So now that you've figured out the problem, what now? You're base is still out in the open. Our ass is pretty much hangin' out over the fire now."

Rashid sighed, smile on his face. "The old rulers of this country were considered quite despotic. It's likely they had some sort of underground facility where we can hide our forces, no?"

Houston smiled. "If that's true, my country probably helped build them when they were still in power. I'll call up some friends back home, see what they can dig up."

"But Mr. Houston, what would your comrades know about this area?" the worker asked, confused.

"You ever heard of the CIA, boy?" Houston said, grinning. "Give me a day 'er two, Rashid. I'll get this figured out in no time."

* * *

McDoland stared hard at the screen in front of him. The wives had given him more than enough space to work, they could feel his anger radiating throughout the comm. room. "Where are you, you bastard," he said, scanning the records for any trace of the rat. The bait had already gone through the wire, but it hadn't gone to any ES channel, or any other group that would go against the Maganacs. It had gone through a number of proxy servers, but the trail was starting to become clear. Just a little more…

"_Uh uh uh, you didn't say the magic word! Uh uh uh! You didn't say the magic word!_"

McDolan simply let his head fall onto the control console. "Least the bastard has a bloody sense of humor. Maybe I'll give'im a grin when I catch 'im."

"Still looking, are you?" Turning, McDoland saw Alaby standing behind him.

"Aye," he said. "This bastard covered 'is tracks well. From what I can tell, he managed to hide his information in a large spam email, sent it to a large number of false servers and sites. I've been tryin' to trak 'im down, but I can' find a bloody trace of the intended target. Well, do you know anything?"

"I've been going to Bugid Y Aiba for guidance. He has given me a small picture of the one responsible, but I'm not certain yet."

"And has Aiba said anything about who the rat was sending the information to?"

Alaby shook his head. "I would prefer it if you wouldn't mock my beliefs." He turned and started to walk out the door. "I will do my best to help you with the search."

"Fine, just don' get all trippy on me." Turning back to the console, McDoland backtracked through the system, deciding to go through a different route. "I'll find you, you bastard," he whispered. "You're mine no matter what."

* * *

**I LIVE!!! Okay, this is _not_ a dead story, I just really suck at chapters that have things like plot and character development. I have seen into the mind of Hollywood script writers, and I can see a small inkling of their pain in trying to write a compelling drama. Now, to anyone who still reads and likes this story, I ask for your reviews! Compliments, complaints, what you like, what you hate, what you want to see, want you want to brain bleach away, help me out here! I want to know that this story is actually liked! *taps the screen* Hello?! Anyone there!**


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13 Death in the Family

* * *

"They've been quiet," Dr. J said, walking through the rebel base. "Think they've been caught?"

"Not a chance, sir," said Will, one of the rebel's top leaders. "ES would've made a media circus of the thing by now. They're still down there."

"You have a point," the elderly man said, flexing his prosthetic hand. "So odds are they're still down there. Has Howard made the move yet?"

"He's already moving through the Pacific, Doc," Will answered. "He's got his permits and everything checked out by ES." Will smiled. "They've already got him working a job for a cargo ship that sank with MS parts. Too bad a few of those parts are too rusted over to be of any use."

"Indeed," J said, grinning. "What else can you tell me?"

"Master O is finishing up on his piece, but there's a problem with finding a dedicated pilot." Will shook his head. "He's always so damn picky about a pilot!"

"Don't talk like that, you fool!" J barked, spinning around and placing his claw on Will. "These devices are too important to leave to any one person," he said, closing his claw on Will's shirt, pulling him closer. "I know you are a rebel, and that is your lot! But do not think that this kind of science is able to be waived at the drop of a hat!"

"S-s-sorry, sir!" Will said. Even though he could probably kill the cripple without breaking a sweat, J carried with him a force of personality that had saved him God knew how many times. "It's just…well, I just can't trust the guy you picked. I mean, he's just-"

"A boy?" J said, smiling. The smile unnerved Will more than anything, really. When the doctor smiled like he was right now, he wasn't thinking warm and fuzzy thoughts. "My dear William, this 'boy' has seen and done more than you could ever imagine."

"Yeah, okay," Will said, still walking with the doctor. "So, what's the kid's name again?"

"Heero," J said, as he and Will walked into the hidden MS bay. "Heero Yuy."

Deep in the back of his mind, Will thought, "_God has quite a sense of irony, doesn't he._"

* * *

As the Corps members ate their lunches in the dining hall, a few were fortunate enough to see McDoland hurriedly grabbing at some rations before hurrying back to the communications room. He'd been at it for weeks now, and was still no closer to gathering any useful information. All anyone knew about the (possible) traitor was that he was hidden well, knew how to hide, and knew that if he was found, he could quickly spell the end for everyone. If he didn't succeed in finding the traitor, it was quite literally the end of their little rebellion.

"He's working too damn hard, and he knows it," Afmad said. "Damnit, he could at least trust us to help him."

"Like he'd even listen," Auda said, taking a bite out of a packet of chicken tetrazzini. "We can't go to Alaby, either. He's too busy meditating to make a difference."

"Which leaves us with the "twins" and Houston. So which one can get us the best help?" Afmad said, leaning back in his seat.

"No one," Abdul said. "We just have to pray that McDoland can find him in time."

"Then we're screwed, aren't we?" Auda said, to which the other two raised their glasses, toasting the morbid humor of the moment.

* * *

"C'mon you bastard, show me where you're hiding today," McDoland mumbled, sitting down at his terminal. "Where's your latest server." Today, instead of following direct leads, he decided to try something different. He decided to latch a small spyware program, known as a Trojan horse to the latest data stream he had found. With any luck, the horse would follow the data back through the systems to arrive at its destination, and from there, give McDoland his best clue. Of course, nearly all computer security programs were made with blocking Trojans as part of their basic job, but this one, if McDoland was right, would be different. Instead of just one horse, he had managed to design a horse within a horse. In the case the first Trojan was found, a second program in the data would initiate and follow the data the rest of the way. It was a gamble, but maybe it could be pulled off.

At first, it was easy, the data bouncing from servers in Hong Kong, Moscow, London, and Cape Town before it caught the first horse. The second horse then appeared, and came close to one of the servers McDoland thought was the source, but in the end, a second security system caught the horse at the gate, once more denying McDoland's chance at finding that rat. With a sigh, he let his head slam down on the console, the pain reminding him it wasn't all a terrible nightmare.

"You done?" Turning again, McDoland saw Houston standing behind him, a look of concern and confusion on his face. "Looks like you've had some luck."

"This bastard's good," McDoland said, groaning as he got up from the console. "So, any luck on getting us a new base yet?"

"That's what I'm here for," Houston said, sliding into the empty chair. "Some of my buddies did some diggin', said they'd have somethin' fer us by today." Typing into a secured server, his face lit up. "And here we are." Moving so McDoland could see, a single message appeared on the screen. Clicking on it, the screen went black, then a wall of text replaced the inbox.

_Houston,_

_Research complete._

_Facility located._

_Heartbreaker_

_All I Have To Do Is Dream_

_If I Only Had A Brain_

_Lonesome Town_

_19__**85**_

_North By Northwest_

_Double Dragon_

_Moleman_

_Condition: Acceptable_

_Locals_

_Do Not Disturb_

Houston had already grabbed some paper, and was writing all the information down he could, getting the last bits down as the message disappeared and returned to the screen. "Got it!" he said, slamming the pen down.

"What, what do you have?" McDoland said, trying to see exactly what the Texan had gotten from the message.

"Not now, gotta get this to Rashid," he said, grabbing the paper and running past the wives, leaving McDoland staring at his retreating back, speechless.

* * *

"You're sure about this code?" Rashid said, reading over the papers again, as he walked around his office, a crutch under his left arm for support of his aching muscles. "It just looks like nonsense to me."

"That's the point," Houston said with a sigh. "Hail is a pretty small city, with a lot of empty desert around. It shouldn't be too hard to avoid the locals, so long as we keep ourselves under the radar."

"Very well," Rashid said. "I want everything essential packed in a week. I want the women and children moved first with a detail of suits with the best men we have available. And make sure that the trio isn't in it."

"Course," Houston said, getting up to look down at the main hangar deck. "You know, we've got some good suits here, but I think I can make'em better." He looked away from Rashid, and said quietly, "For a price."

Rashid looked at Houston, surprised. "A price?" he asked, surprised by the Texan's sudden condition. "When does a freedom fighter need money?"

"When he needs to get back home in time for the next shot," Houston answered. "Every major group out there is trying, on the same day, to make one last major push against ES before they can shut us all down." He pulled out a cigar and lit it with a vintage lighter. "The twins and Alaby are leaving too, Rashid, and McDoland, and Chan."

"And you choose now to tell me about this!" Rashid barked. "Why did you wait so long, damnit, I could've helped you all prepare! Maybe even help on that day-"

"And do what, exactly?" Houston asked, sarcasm practically dripping from his mouth. "Take another oil field? Blow up a base? Start another riot?" He shook his head. "Rashid, you're our farm team," he said, placing his hands on Rashid's shoulders. "When your uncle sent the word out, everyone answered, not because of the pay, though that was a welcome bonus, but because we all needed a group that could carry on if we failed." He shook his head. "You really think the world's biggest groups of partisans would drop what they were doing and help some nothing outfit out of _charity?_" He clapped a hand on Rashid's shoulder. "Kid, face it, you've been nothing but a great, useful tool, that's just been upgraded to ally."

Rashid pulled away from Houston, glaring at the American. "You…You just used us!"

Houston waved his arms around dramatically. "Hello! You boys would've been desert waste if it wasn't for us!" he said. "Those mercs would've left, and you'd be stuck trying to keep the workers and their families from eating each other!" Houston leaned in close. "You don't get how this game works, Rashid, you have a lot of learning to do before you're really in charge."

"You lied to me!" Rashid yelled, grabbing Houston by his shirt. "You told me nothing of this!"

"Plausible deniability," Houston said, gently taking Rashid's hands off his shirt. "You never asked, I never had to tell. Your uncle understood that."

"Don't speak of my uncle as though you knew him!" Rashid said. "My uncle would never have let you here would he have known-"

"Oh, open your God damn eyes, buddy, he knew the second we arrived that we were using you all!" Houston screamed. "He just didn't want his best work to go out to bastards like ES! What do you think would've happened if we hadn't come here, huh? ES would've stormed the factory, killed your boys, and made off with designs that would've helped them take the rest of the desert!"

"You insolent bastard!" Rashid said. "Get out of this base _now!_"

"Not before I tell you something important." Motioning to Rashid's office, Houston closed the door after Rashid had hobbled to his seat. "Now listen and listen good, Rashid, cause I'm only gonna say this once. We took this job cause we needed a farm team, you got that, right?" Rashid nodded. "Well the reason we're doing this all at once is because the colonies got something else planned, and we don't rightly want to see it come to fruition."

"What are you talking about?" Rashid asked, annoyed with the way Houston seemed to dance around the issue.

"Bout two years ago, a hacker for Hamas came across a communiqué from the colonies. All he could descramble was the letter 'M', and ever since then any mention of M makes us worried. Why?" Houston leaned close to Rashid. "We don't know what the colonies are planning, but it's big. It needs gundanium, and it involves _something _falling to Earth, get my drift?"

Rashid felt his jaw drop. "You mean they're actually going to fire it at-"

"Hell, we don't know for sure," Houston said. "All we can tell is that if 'M' goes through and fails, that's it for everyone." The Texan sat down, looking exhausted. "Until we find out what M is, we can't afford to let it happen. You and a few others are all we have in case we fail."

"But why not go to the Colonial rebels?" Rashid asked. "Surely they would be willing to tell you! What about-"

"They wouldn't take any help we could offer them," Houston said, holding up his hand to stop Rashid. "The Colony rebels are so paranoid it makes ES look like it walks around like it's junk is hanging about for all to see." He went over to the map Rashid had put up. "You've got the Middle East, Rashid, and we've got other sleeper cells set up just in case." Houston's face suddenly went sad; it was the only way to describe it. "But if we fail, and whatever M is gets done, I'd hate to be around when it happens."

"So that's why we're here," Rashid said, his head down as he sat at his desk. "Someone has to resist if you all fail."

"Exactly," Houston said, getting up. "We'll all be leaving when you make the move. But I can tell you this," he said, standing at the door. "Whoever stays with you during the move is the traitor." With that, he left, letting Rashid stew in his thoughts, as the sun slipped under the horizon.

* * *

Alaby was meditating again in front of his statue of Bugid Y Aiba for guidance before he went to bed. The time drew near, and the traitor still remained undiscovered. As long as that person remained, he couldn't allow them to follow the Maganacs to their new base. He prayed for guidance, for clarity. But his mind was fogged now. It was clear Bugid Y Aida did not yet know who the traitor, or traitors was.

Then a sudden flash of clarity. Multiple servers all over the world. A man with not much past. Someone who had never revealed much of anything about himself. But all covered by a nature that few would be willing to penetrate. Thanking Bugid Y Aiba for his guidance, he ran to the door of his room, throwing it open to see the barrel of a silenced pistol on the other side, aimed between his eyes. Before he could even open his mouth, the shooter fired once, blood, brain and bone thrown out into Alaby's room, a few splatters landing on the statue of the loa of war. The assassin then ran through the base, leaving the weapon there, as some of the men ran from their rooms to see what had happened.

* * *

"So we've each found a pilot then?" Master O said, pushing his pilot's profile forward onto the table where all the leaders had decided to meet. His was a young woman, her file showing years as an experienced martial artist and fighter.

"Indeed," Doctor S said, showing his pilot, the son of the powerful Dekim Barton. "All our pilots are ready for their introduction to the weapons systems."

Pushing theirs forward, Doctor J's was a young orphan, an assassin trained by one of the best, Odin Lowe. He'd say later that he thought the name wasn't ironic, it fit perfectly. He would, after all, bring peace. Professor G's pilot was a former gang member, now a young man who wanted to do right for all his wrongs. An avenging angel.

"Well, H, where's your pilot?" O asked.

Slowly pushing his pilot's profile forward, the other engineers looked over the profile.

"Privileged upbringing?" H said. "No prior battle experience? Believes firmly in pacifism? How on Earth does this help us at all?"

"Because there's something special about this boy," S said. "Read farther."

Going back to the dossier, O read on. "Hmmm." Then his eyes widened a little. "Possible abilities not yet explained by known science. What does this mean?"

"The boy has a gift," S said, leaning forward on the table. "He knows things about people, he knows their feelings, their emotions, their fears. He can almost see inside of them, know them almost instantly."

"So he's good at reading people." H laughed. "Can he bend a spoon with his mind too?"

"Don't play a fool, man!" S answered, rising in his seat. "There have been theories for years that leaving Earth would affect humankind someday, in a way that no one could have predicted! What if this ability of his is the first sign?"

"Still, being a pacifist would put him in a risky position." O thought for a minute, as S sat back down. "This one will be going to the Middle East. Isn't there a group there that can help us?"

"They call themselves the Maganac Corps," S answered. "They're still not experienced, though. They need some time before we could even consider them allies. We've only used them once, and only then through Howard. They aren't as established as groups like Hamas and the IRA, and they aren't as funded as the American groups or Russian seperatists. We can't let them know the full extent of our plans yet."

"Maybe not as allies," O said. "But escorts. This boy may be able to operate a Gundam, but he isn't a fighter by nature. We need to help him in any way we can. This group can do that."

"We'd have to wait for the Earth forces to make their own push," H said, gathering up his notes. "Our sources have already confirmed it for us, the Earth fighters are going to make one major push. A few groups have already decided on separate plans and dates, they aren't going to go along with the people they've hated for centuries, even for something as important as this."

"And the final date?" S asked, marking this down in his own papers.

"Three months from now, and two years before Operation M." O gathered up his things, leaving the room to meet with his own men to go back to his workshop, the others ready to leave for their colonies. "The time is fast approaching, gentlemen. Operation M, _our_ Operation M, is the only hope for humanities freedom."

* * *

**Wow, an update! I'm as surprised as all of you are.**

**Anyway, happy (belated) 4th of July, folks. And I'd like to take this time to throw in an Author's Note**

**A few have raised the issue of Episode Zero, the prequel to the Wing series.**

**I don't like the idea of it.**

**Rebels don't just pop up out of nowhere, they need time to form, to grow, and that's what I'm trying to show in this story. The idea that a group like this is nothing but a bunch of test tube babies made for this just don't fly, pal.**

**Now I can already hear some of you saying, "But you're using stuff from Episode Zero in this chapter anyway!" Well, yeah, because it works. I can dig that Heero was raised by an assassin, that Duo found religion and became some kind of avenging angel, that sort of thing, because it's great character background. But the Maganacs being test tube babies doesn't fly with me. I needed more for them, a better reasoning. And I decided that if the creators didn't want to give us one, well by God, I'd do it myself!**

**Added to the fact that I've never read Ep. Zero, and have no idea about the details.**

**So, your reviews, (Especially you, Ms. Scarlet) are most welcomed, so use your freedom of speech on this 4th of July week, and let your voice be heard!**


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14 Revelation

* * *

Rashid paced back and forth in front of Alaby's room, as the other men gathered around the room, while McDoland and the other mercs checked the scene. Alaby had been killed by one shot to the head, the back of Alaby's head scattered about. A few of the mercs kept a makeshift cordon, keeping the workers away from the scene.

"Large caliber," Houston said. ".44 or higher."

"Like that hand cannon you carry at your side?" Patrick said, eyeing Houston's revolver.

"Both of you shut up," McDoland said. "Listen, we're running out of time. We need to get them out of here, fast."

"Then we'd better leave now, then," Ryan said. "We'll only keep drawing attention."

"I'll tell Rashid," Chan said. "They should start moving now, to keep suspicion from rising."

"Do that," McDoland said. "I'll check the net for anything that'll pop up."

Nodding, Chan walked to Rashid and led him away from the mob. "Rashid, it's getting too dangerous for you all to stay here any longer, you have to move the civilians and workers to Hail as soon as you can."

"Of course," Rashid said. In the back of his mind, though, he was running through what could have happened. Alaby had probably found out who the traitor was too late, and paid dearly for it. "What do you think we should do first?" Rashid said.

"I've already got a suspicion of who did this," Chan said. "After I handle them, I'll accompany you to Hail."

Rashid nodded, then pulled Chan close. "I think I know who you think did this," he said. "See if you can't bring the 'trio' to my office, I'll wait for you there."

"Of course," Chan said, as Rashid walked off. Quickly, he separated Abdul, Afmad and Auda from the other mercenaries. "Men, come with me. Commander Kurama wants to speak with you about what happened."

"He doesn't think we did it, does he?" Afmad said.

"No," Chan said. "He believes you three can find the one who did this, at least that's what he implied." He motioned them forward. "After you, gentlemen."

* * *

After a short walk, the men went into Rashid's office. There, they saw Rashid leaning on the window that let him view the floor. His head was down, and when he heard the door opened, he sighed heavily. "You're all here, then?" he said.

"All four of us," Auda said. "Just tell us what you need!"

"I need to know why," Rashid said. "Why you sold us out."

"Why we what?" Abdul said quietly. "What are you talking about?"

"You've endangered all of us," Rashid said, standing up straight. The three could now hear their commander loading a pistol. "You killed one of the most trusted allies we had, and for what?" He turned around and pointed the pistol at the men, a .45 Desert Eagle. "Why did you do this!"

"We didn't do anything!" Afmad shouted. "What the hell are you thinking, you lunatic!"

"You can't lie to me," Rashid said, motioning the three to get away from Chan and the door. Slowly, the three men did. Auda didn't see the floor, though, and tripped over a table leg. His friends tried to help, but Rashid pointed his weapon at them, and they moved away. "Chan, would you?"

Nodding, Chan started to walk over, when Rashid started firing. The hollow points hit Chan in the shoulder and leg, the Korean collapsing like a sack of rocks. The trio scattered around the room, while Rashid walked over and gave Chan a good kick to the ribs. "You nearly had me killed back in Burgham field!" he yelled. "I was trusting you to keep us safe, and you nearly had all the men at the field killed!"

"I didn't think you'd figure me out this soon," Chan coughed. "What gave me away?"

"Houston's advice," Rashid said. "You slipped your hand too early."

"You'd take the advice of an American?" Chan said, confused. "I can't believe you would trust them after all that's happened…"

"That time is past," Rashid said. "You three," he said to Auda, Afmad and Abdul. "Have the men prepare a way to transport Alaby's body back to Haiti." He looked back at Chan. "After we're finished here."

"You really suspected us, didn't you!" Auda said. "Even after we were the first ones to volunteer to help you!"

"You were also wanted men, and in a desperate situation. You could have been doing anything to bide your time until an opportunity presented itself. Am I wrong in thinking that?"

"Well…" Afmad said, quietly. "We did kinda jump on the chance for a safe place to hide…But hey, we're as much a fan of the Earth Sphere as you!"

"I know that now," Rashid said. "And I realize that many of the other men from the bars and speakeasies are willing to help us." He pushed his foot down on Chan's chest. "So who do you work for? Earth Sphere?" He kept pressing down. "Or OZ?"

"Does it matter now?" Chan said with a smile, as blood from his arteries spilled onto the carpeted floor. "So I'll tell you this…" he said, motioning Rashid closer. Quietly, he whispered, "Were you actually expecting you dying enemy to tell you anything important?" With one last laugh, Chan died, and Rashid angrily shot at the body until his magazine was empty.

"Change of plans," Rashid said, dropping the magazine from his weapon. "We're moving everyone now! Place charges around the building and set them to detonate in twelve hours, get all the families and supplies to the transports! Place squadrons three and four to the south to draw the enemy forces away, six will stay with the transports!"

"On it boss!" Abdul said, nearly pushing the other two men out. Quickly, the workers and mercenaries were mobilized, herding the families onto the transports and rushing them from the factory, as the suits from squadrons three and four, eight suits each, rushed south, waiting for the first contact with the enemy that was coming to investigate. But before that, Rashid went to his console for one last contact. Quickly tracing the contact information back, he found that his contact Howard was now on Earth, somewhere in the Mediterranean. "Howard, come in! This is Rashid! I have vital information concerning our situation, respond!"

"_Rashid, do you know what time it is?_" Howard said, hurriedly putting on his glasses. "_What is it?_"

"Our initial base has been discovered, we're moving to a new location! I'll try to contact you as soon as it's secured, but we'll need supplies, whatever you can spare!"

"_What happened to those funds we've transferred?_" Howard asked, scratching his head. "_Can't access them?_"

"You don't understand! We're targets now, and until I'm sure that we've left the ES radar, I can't do a thing! Just please wait for my contact!" Severing the call, he ran out himself, running for the hangar, for his own suit. "Afmad, what's the status of the families?"

"_We're loading them as fast as we can, but they're trying to grab some of their things-_"

"Force them on by gunpoint if you have to!" Rashid said, booting the suit up. "I don't care what they have to grab, even if it's a family pet! Get them on the transports no matter what!"

"_Rashid, what's going on here!_" Houston screamed. "_Everyone's running 'round like a chicken without a head!_"

"Chan was the traitor, Houston! I don't know what you're all planning, but I'm moving my people to Hail immediately!"

Houston nodded. "_I'll inform the others,_" Houston said. "_We'll go our own way, just make sure of one thing._"

"_Make sure M doesn't go too far._"

Nodding, Rashid joined with third and fourth squadrons, while Afmad and the others practically forced the workers' families to board the transports atop the suits. Many of the families tried to fight against the mercs, crying that they were leaving behind important heirlooms and their money. The mercs just made sure the husbands of the families knew what was at stake, as soon enough, a calm sense of fear had spread through the families. Other teams ran through the factory, rigging charges on load bearing beams and fuel tanks, as the more technically inclined wiped any and all information off the computer system after transferring it to secure flash drives and discs. Disaster nearly struck when a worker forgot to fasten a strap tightly enough around one of the suit's being transported, but a member of third squadron supported the fallen suit until it could be properly secured.

"Slow down, you fools!" Abdul yelled. "Panic and you're liable to kill someone! Go as fast as you can, but make sure you don't screw up!"

After a half hour of hurried loading and packing, the first transports were away, moving through the late night towards hail, over massive dunes and freezing cold. Mothers huddled their children close, as squadron six tried their best to keep ahead of the convoy. But even at full tilt, with their suits designed for desert conditions, they still had some trouble with a small slip or near fall. But the way seemed mostly clear, and the trucks and families were soon disappearing from view. Also disappearing were the four mercenaries, all moving to the east, to the ports in Palestine. Houston might have had some trouble alone, but the IRA and PLO had developed a rather polite relationship over the past few decades, and would probably be more than willing to help each other in a desperate situation. "Are you sure you'll be alright?" Rashid asked. "I can have one of my teams provide escort, if you wish."

"_Don't worry,_" Houston said. "_You get your people to safety, we know how to handle ourselves. Good luck, Rashid. We're counting on you._"

Cutting the feed, Rashid changed channels to third and fourth. "Third squadron, take your position four hundred meters to the southeast! Fourth, with me! We'll take positions to the north and hold!"

"_For how long sir?_" one of the workers asked.

"Until I'm sure that OZ won't pursue us!" Rashid barked. "Now take positions, we're going to wait the entire year if we have to!"

* * *

Rashid and the others didn't have to wait long. A full force of ES troops soon came over the horizon. Helicopters, vehicles, infantry and suits. An entire force coming for the building, and anyone inside.

"Keep to formation," the major in command ordered. "Stick to plan if they attack! Don't separate from your squads!" The entire force gave confirmation. "Advance team two, pull towards the factory and investigate the area, enter only when you are sure it's been cleared!"

"_Affirmative, sir!_" the lieutenant said, as he tapped the driver of the transport twice, signaling him to speed to the building. The suits and choppers formed a large perimeter around the structure.

"_They're pretty well armed,_" one of the maganacs said, one of the mercenaries. "_Were those bombs only set on timers? Can't we detonate them?_"

"They're set to go off in another nine hours," Rashid said. "Unless they actively start pursuing the convoy, we hold."

"_Yes, sir_," the man said, and Rashid nearly pulled a double take. "Sir?" he said quietly. It was quite an impact to hear one of the more experienced men call him that.

Slowly, the ES advance team made their way into the building, scanning the entrance. Reanou sat in the base and watched carefully. When Chan hadn't reported in at his usual time, he had decided the time to move was now. The plan had been thrown slightly, yes, but showing such dangerous rebels taken down by the mighty troops of the Alliance, and by extension, OZ, would do a great service to the Press Corps. "I hope your death was worth this, Chan," he said, as the advance team pried open the doors to the building.

"_Entering now,_" the team radioed. Slowly, the camera entered a massive area, a hangar, pitch black except for the small flashlight beams from the soldiers. The area was completely empty, echoes from the men's boots and the clanging of the metal doors. The beams of light cut through the darkness, but did little other than offer some vague comfort that nothing appeared to be hiding. But nothing was there, save for a few hastily discarded belongings scattered around the bay. Clothes, furniture, even toys. The soldiers stalked forward carefully, weapons up, scanning everywhere. Above, to the left, there appeared to be a raised office, a dim fluorescent light still on. "_Handle, take Turner and Perth, check that office area._" The three did as ordered, as the remaining seventeen men of the team kept moving. Slowly, they split up through the complex, though never in a group smaller than three men.

"_We've found a body!_" Handle reported, his camera showing Chan's corpse. "_Appears to be an Asian male, multiple bullet wounds._"

"Au revior, Chan," Reanou whispered, as the camera panned around.

"_This is team five, we've located another body._" This time the camera showed a very different room from the clean office. This was a room filled with the smoke of incense, small statues and alien symbols dotting the room. In front of the door was a body, a single bullet wound in the forehead. "_Black male, definitely killed recently, blood's barely dry._"

"Can you find anyone still alive in the base?" the control team asked.

"_Negative,_" the lieutenant said. "_Whoever was here beat feet in a hurry. We'll report when we find something-_"

"_Sir, we've found explosives!_" Scanning the feeds, Reanou focused on one that was set on a pillar, shakily focused on a bomb with enough explosives on it to level a high rise. On the front, a large digital time, counting down from "22:13:57" "_It's gotta be a trick, sir, that's too long to leave an explosive to sit._"

"The enemy watches cinema too," Reanou said. "Pull back to the outside and hold, we'll have E.O.D.s to you A.S.A.P." Quietly, Reanou was trying to figure out what had happened. Who was manipulating all this? His plan was almost sure to work, but what had gone wrong! "I'll be getting some sleep," he said to the nearest junior officer, a captain. "Wake me the second something happens."

"Sir," the man said. As Reanou walked to his room, the soldiers watched him carefully. Normally, he was a calm, passive officer, a welcome change from their usual commanders. He'd taken everything, from the assassinations to the sabotage at Burgham, well in stride. Now, he seemed concerned. And what worried Reanou was certainly going to worry his men.

"_We have to find a way to set off those explosives,_" one of the experienced pilots said. "_They've already got techs coming to defuse the bombs, and if they find anything, we'll running right into a sandstorm naked!_"

"Could a blast from our rifles do the job?" Rashid asked.

"_It's risky, sir,_" the man said. "_There's plenty of enemy out here, and they won't all be hit by the blast of debris. Plus there's the chance it may not trigger a detonation at all. You can't hit the bomb directly, that'd just destroy it. Plus the fact that each bomb is separately triggered from another. By the time you hit enough to collapse the roof, the Alliance would have already punched you full of holes._"

"Then if they're sending explosives experts, we can stop them from arriving. Squadron three, have half your men fall to the rear of the ES formation and observe where they came from. Once that's done, take positions to the rear and wait for the team. We have less than ten hours, gentlemen, let's make sure we do this right!"

* * *

As the night slowly moved by, the four men from squadron three finally saw it on their monitors, the helicopter coming from the Alliance base. "_Hold fire until they're well in range,_" the experienced man leading the team said. "_Anyone who disobeys, I'll throw you to the Alliance troops for being so stupid!_"

"Roger," Namir said, tracking the helicopter. It had been quite some time since he'd be in combat in his suit, but the motions he'd been taught were still there, and still sharp. By now, McDoland and the others were probably storming through the desert, leaving a trail a blind man could follow. But that wasn't what was important, keeping the families and other suits safe was. Idly, his mind wandered back to Rasshid, how he had given his life in Abha. Namir had never really held a belief in his life. Sure, his parents raised him in a submissive house, and they had even made the _hajj _to Mecca once. But he'd still gone over what had changed a quiet friend into a fierce lion that day, right until his death. It wasn't any teachings that the instructors had given, they were merely tutors in war. It hadn't been Rashid, or the elder Mr. Kurama, because neither could have instilled such borderline madness in any of the workers. So what had done it?

"_Ready weapons,_" the leader said. "_They're nearing range!_"

"**Wait, I'm picking up something else!**" another man radioed. "**They've got gunships, five of them, flying cover on the truck!**"

"_Where'd they come from!_" the leader said. "_Blast! Namir, you target the gunships, you two, fire on the transport!_"

"Roger!" Namir said, as the four opened up with their beam rifles.

"This is chopper Delta, we have confirmed enemy Mike Sierras in the vicinity, engaging." Tilting his bird down, the pilot gave his gunner a perfect shot at one of the brown suits, but was forced to break off when a fusillade of laser blasts came too close for comfort. "All choppers, protect the transport until it can reach the enemy structure," he said calmly. "All other priorities are secondary."

Namir tried to keep the choppers away from his comrades, but it was like swatting away bees. Every time he thought he had one, another appeared in a different direction. The other suits were focused on the transport, and with good reason, but it was difficult for Namir to lock on long enough to get a clean hit on an enemy chopper.

"_Namir, get your head on straight!_" the lead pilot barked. "_Those choppers'll take us out unless youUARGH!_" he screamed. One of the choppers had managed to fire off a rocket volley into the suit's head and left shoulder. The armor took most of it, but the main sensors were destroyed and the left actuator was damaged, meaning the suit was one arm short. The five other choppers were closing, and Namir felt himself start to panic-

"_No, don't panic,_" a small voice told him. "_Those are your comrades out there, you won't let them die! Do as McDoland taught you,_" the voice said. "_Take careful aim,_" he lined up his rifle with one of the oncoming choppers. The other two suits were starting to fidget around, their shots going wild, the transport chopper rapidly leaving the combat zone. "_Take a deep breath, then exhale._" He did so, and the shaking of his crosshairs lessened.

"Squeeze the trigger."

His shot burst through the empty night, scoring a direct hit on the chopper that hand hit the lead pilot. Despite the choppers breaking off again, he kept firing the same way, dropping chopper after chopper, giving his comrades some breathing room, and letting them focus, finally taking the transport down, and turning their attention to the retreating enemy choppers, taking three more before they were done.

"_Nice job, Namir,_" the lead said, pulling his suit over. "_Mind giving me a hand here? Can't see out worth a damn._"

"Yes, sir," Namir said, smiling despite himself. "I'll link my suit's feed to yours. Fall in behind me, I'll lead you back." Doing so, he started to understand why Rasshid had done what he'd done in Abha. Rasshid had been the first to really open his eyes, Namir guessed, to what waited for them all if the Alliance won over them. Interrogations, jails, executions, for everyone that had helped, maybe even the children. Namir wouldn't let that happen to his fellow workers, or the mercenaries that had come to prove themselves as just as loyal. The trainers, yes, they were gone, but Namir felt the corps was facing it's last proving test. If they survived the night, they would be worthy of their name, because family looked out for each other, and if the Alliance succeeded tonight, then they would have let their family down.

* * *

"Sir, we've lost contact with the E.O.D. team!" the captain said, rushing into Reanou's room. The major dragged himself out of bed, rubbing his head.

"Captain, pull our forces back from the factory before those bombs go off, I want no more deaths from this."

"Sir?"

"I did not stutter, captain!" Reanou said sternly. Nodding, the captain closed the door, and Reanou poured himself a small glass from his personal store of wines. Taking a sip, he mulled over what was happening, but could not fit things together. Things were starting to fall out of control, and he would soon prove a hindrance to Trieze if this continued. He needed to crush this problem, before the Operation was truly enacted.

* * *

Rashid watched as the enemy suits and other troops moved away from the base, almost like they were retreating. Still, they waited until the rest of team three returned, and left when they put the damaged suit in the factory. They couldn't afford to let one suit slow them down, not when the Alliance could return with a larger force. As the sun crept into the sky, the desert wildlife quickly found what shelter it could before it was fried. Then the bombs went off.

The pillars supporting the roof fell like a child's toys that were knocked down, the roof falling in like a sinkhole. What few personal belongings inside were disintegrated, the suit destroyed by the shockwaves and actual blasts, as concrete and metal was piled atop it. The smoking pile of rubble just sat there, until the next, and larger, ES team moved in, seeing the pile still smoking. They set up a larger perimeter this time, sending in airborne troops to check that nothing was a danger, and moved through, using Leos to clear the larger rubble, but nothing valuable could be found. The scavenging would go on through the weeks to come, all for nothing.

* * *

"You say that you're finishing the suit?" Mr. Kurama said, as he and Instructor H sat outside on one of the sidewalk cafes in the colony. "I'm glad to see my funds have been put to good use."

"Indeed," H said, putting his drink down. "Redundant heat sinks and white coating were also added, as you requested. I gather you will send this one down to the Arabian Peninsula, correct?"

"I can't say yet," Mr. Winner said, for plausible deniability, if nothing else. His face grew stern. "You still have concerns about my choice of pilot."

"A few," H said. "He is only a boy, after all. I realize that no father would ever put their child in such a situation without first weighing all the options, but do you really think he could understand what we are trying to accomplish here?"

"My son bears more weight than you can imagine," Winner said, taking his drink. "You said it yourself, he has a gift, but that gift comes to him at a price. He can read people, almost like books, but like books, some are good. Others are bad."

H nodded. "I know, but he's still barely a young man. Do you really think that he'll be able to stand it? Revolution isn't a clean business, even you know that."

"He learns fast," Mr. Winner said with a soft smile. "And he always bounces back from tragedy, did you know?"

"Of course," H said softly. Mr. Winner always had strong feelings for his family, and what had happened to his wife had weighed heavily on him. Sometimes it seemed that he blamed himself for letting it happen, even though many still made the same mistake up to that day. "I've already set up a training program for the boy, he can start whenever you think he's ready."

"He's ready now," Mr. Winner said, leaving some money to pay the tab. "I may be an old bastard, but I believe my son can do this. He's his mother's son, after all."

* * *

Nodding, H took his things with him and left the café. Quickly, he made his way to the meeting area for his colony's rebel activities, careful to make sure no one was following. Making his way down into the bowels of the colony, he made his way into a small service corridor, making a maze out of his way to the meeting area. Finally arriving, he knocked carefully, and walked in to see most of the men gathered. "Where are the others?"

"Still working, sir," the leader said. "They've encountered a problem."

"With what?" H said, taking the news in stride.

"Communications," the leader said, handing a clipboard to H. "Testing's confirmed that it's range is far limited to what we originally had wanted."

"Far more limited," H said, handing the board back to the leader of the rebels. "Any other problems?"

"We've got a lot of leftover parts and alloy, sir," the leader said. "We literally don't have the space to store them, and OZ has already spotted most of our hiding places. We need to find a place for them, immediately."

H thought carefully, opening the door to his office and taking a seat, offering another to the rebel leader. "I have information on a group on Earth that is willing to help us. It's entirely possible they could use a few more supplies for their struggle." He smiled. "Let's schedule a supply shuttle for Howard, I hear he could use some entertainment."

* * *

Opening his door, Mr. Winner saw his head butler waiting in the foyer. "Good afternoon, sir," he said, bowing.

"Hello, Samir," Mr. Winner said. "How is Quatre today?"

"He's upstairs playing with his sisters, sir," Samir said. "Will you be needing anything, sir?"

"Just the business section in a few minutes," Mr. Winner said, climbing the stairs. Hearing his children's voices, he opened the door to see Quatre and three of his sisters playing a board game, laughing with joy. "Hello? What game are we playing today?"

"Father!" Quatre said, running to his father's side and leaping to hug him. "How was your lunch with your partner?"

"It went well enough, Quatre," the elder Winner said, patting his boy's hair. "We're expecting a major deal to come through soon."

"Father, come join us!" his daughters said. "Come, please, we've barely started, there's more than enough time for you to play!"

"I don't think so," Mr. Winner said, waiving away the offer. "This game always takes forever to play, and time is always one step ahead of me." He kneeled down and whispered into Quatre's ear, "Remember to go easy on them, I'll never hear the end of it if you don't!"

"Whatever you say, father!" the boy said, leaping back to his sisters, as his father walked to his study, Samir waiting with a business paper. "Anything good?"

"The attacks on Burgham field seem to have had one positive effect, at least for you, sir," Samir said, handing the paper to his master. "You'll see that your holdings have shot up immensely. Such a shame about all those people, though. I do wish there was a better way for your fortune to improve." Mr. Winner acted like he didn't hear what Samir was saying.

"Call my broker, have him buy up stock in foodstuffs and other perishables," Mr. Winner said. "Futures only. I have the feeling those are going to be quite valuable indeed."

"Anything else sir?" Samir said.

"Just a small coffee, old friend," Mr. Winner said. With a bow, Samir closed the door as he left, leaving Mr. Winner alone in his study. Of course he was a believer in a man's right to freedom and independence, but it didn't mean he couldn't pursue what many would have called "The American Dream" in centuries past. Scanning over the report in the financial section, he moved on to the Sports section. "Ah, England! You continue to disappoint, even now!"

"Ah, did the betting fall out again, sir?" Samir said, coming in with a cup of coffee. "I always advise you to go against England in the betting," he said with an aged laugh. "You really should start betting on the South American teams, every other living human being does."

"It's not like we have to worry about money," Mr. Winner said. "Put a thousand on their next game, would you? They're going up against Belarus, and I've read they're doing even worse."

"As you wish, sir," Samir said. Once again alone in his study, Mr. Winner looked over the reports on his own holdings once more. "I hope they'll be able to appreciate this," he whispered. "I'm doing it all for them."

* * *

**Wow, an update! What madness is this!**

**Anyway, I feel I should mention another story in this, because this is a good one, folks, even for you fans of Maganac, called "Soldiers of the Apocalypse", by Mayhem777. An interesting look at what would happen after the Eve Wars and the Marimeia incident, it follows the Gundam pilots trying to adapt to a life of peace on Earth. I won't say too much, but it has a maze of plot twists and turns that are complex enough not to spot, but still easy enough to see after a second look. And without giving too much away, you'll still be shocked, even after what happens after the first major battle. So when you give Mayhem your review, tell'im Flyboy sent you.**

**After you give me your reviews for this story, of course!**


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